#and its instant cut off. no closure. no talking. no nothing.

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

regret | deacon x sole survivor

“i don’t feel the same way, charmer.” his voice was barely a whisper.

sole felt a lump grow in their throat as they tried to fight back the tears that threatened to escape. they tried to let out a simple, “okay, i understand,” but only silence filled the air.

deacon knows. he catches the tears building up in their eyes and knows their voice is silently attempting to scratch its way out.

he desperately wants to stop their pain, wipe their tears and remind them that he thinks no differently of their relationship, but something in his heart tugs as sole fights back to hide their vulnerability from him. “i’m sorry.” is all he truly lets out because in reality, his words are just as lost as soles own.

to sole, his words become a blur. their knees become weak as their vision becomes clouded with tears they refuse to let out.

‘i’ll give them time,’ he thinks but his feet struggle to find movement as he continues to stare down at sole, speechless for the first time in a long while.

before he could make a move, sole rushes out of the room, not sparing him a second glance. the sound of the door shutting behind him breaks deacon out of his trance, grounding him back to reality.

a tinge of regret pokes at his heart and he silently pushes it away, knowing that this was for the best. he didn’t have feelings for them and it was nothing but the truth.

or so he thought.

-

the next few weeks are almost a blur for him as his partner goes mia from the commonwealth. the first two weeks, he tries to let it be, convincing himself that sole might’ve needed some time to themselves to sort their feelings out, so he lets them. seeing them might be the last thing they need, so he tries to fight the urge to do so.

yet, as time goes by, the worry in his heart rapidly grows when they’re announced as missing by the minutemen. he grows unnaturally quiet upon hearing their words and feels himself grow weak at the possibilities of what could’ve happened to his partner.

searching far and wide did almost nothing for him and only flared his concern. there was little to no clues of their disappearance and the hope that he would find them sooner or later began to slowly deteriorate.

deacon takes in a deep breath, trying to soothe his mind of all the concern and regret. how could he let it get this bad? why couldn’t he at least check up on them day to day instead of running away?

deep down, he knew the truth of it all. it screamed volumes to him and no matter how much he tried to silence it, it grew louder with every passing second. he avoided sole as much as they avoided him because deacon refused to confront the truth between them both. he never provided closure because he never knew how to.

and the more he refused to face the reality of the situation, the longer the days stretched. he found himself pushing everyone away, spending countless nights with tears streaming down his face, hoping someday sole would just turn up on the railroads doorstep. he didn’t care if they forgave him or not— he just wanted to see them safe.

tonight, he found himself with a bottle in his hand, hunching over the counter as he drank the night. he silently thanked lady luck for landing him in an almost empty bar for no one to catch the state he put himself in. unbeknownst to him, a certain mercenary watched his back from the minute he’s entered the bar till the very last drop of his nth bottle.

“you know, i don’t think that’s a very healthy thing to do.” deacon looked over his shoulder, and though his vision continued to spin, he automatically recognized the annoying face that pestered him.

“let a man ‘ave fun, asshole.” he slurred, trying to push out a grin. maccready rolled his eyes and occupied the seat near deacon, folding his arms.

“i’m serious.” mac pulled the bottle away from his hands, tossing it to the bin nearby.

“hey, i was-!” before he could finish, the mercenary cut him off, not wanting to listen to a word that left his mouth. “do you wanna talk about it?”

his words cut through the facade he tried to pull off and deacon immediately fell silent upon his words. “i know we don’t meet eye to eye all that much, but i hate to see you like this.”

as much as he wanted to lie to his face, continue his said facade, he wasn’t physically able to upkeep that image anymore. it was extremely tiring, especially with everything going on. he let out a sigh and allowed his head to fall on his arms that rested on the table. “you wouldn’ understan’.”

theres a pregnant pause, but he eventually responds. “i don’t, but i could try.”

it takes him a few moments to decide whether or not to confide in someone, especially maccready of all people. to his dismay, the words leave his mouth before he could stop himself from letting it out.

“you won’t tell?” it’s a point of no return— he knows — but for some reason, he doesn’t take it back. was the consequences of actions finally getting to him? probably. he didn’t have time to think as maccready let out a small, but shocked, “of course.”

and so he lets it out— not everything — but enough for maccready to get the message. how it all lead up this point and how it contributed to their disappearance.

“i think i made a mistake.” he says, voice barely a whisper. “i made a huge fucking mistake and i don’t know what to do.”

mac looks down at agent with sympathy, detecting the pain trapped in his voice and sighs, “we all do. it’s just the human in us.”

the rest of his words grow obscured as his eyes droop, the alcohol and sleepless nights finally catching up to him. slowly, but surely, the world blacks out.

-

it’s almost dreamlike— the feeling of his hair being brushed softly and the way a familiar voice lulls him awake. he lets out a small groan as his head pounds violently from what he hoped was the night before. he thinks it’s all in his head; the soft touches and the soft voice that continued to fall upon his ears. it’s so painfully familiar, yet it couldn’t be but he felt his heart jump at the possibility of it.

“sole?” his eyes shoot open but close back in an instant as the gentle light illuminating from the window cracks filled his vision. his head dips on what seems to be their lap, trying to block it out desperately. he felt the same hand that brushed his locks rest on top of his eyes to protect it from the sunlight that only made his head throb more.

“morning sleepyhead.” upon hearing that sweet sound, tears began to form in his eyes once more. the one person he’s yearned to see for what seemed like centuries was finally within arms reach. just like that, his tears fell effortlessly, collecting in soles hand as it streamed down his cheeks.

“deacon?” before they could remove their hand to reveal the tears spilling from his eyes, he quickly places his hand on top of theirs as a silent request to keep his eyes hidden.

“i’m sorry.” he chokes out, voice cracking through each word that left his lips, “i’m fucking sorry. i-“ he gently squeezed the same hand that rested on top of theirs. sole remained silent, watching as he spoke through ragged breaths. he tried his best to muster out his apologies, thoughts — feelings — through the pounding of his mind.

“everything i said, it was a lie. it was all a fucking lie just to avoid having some kind of attachment in my life. i hurt you because i was scared of facing my fears.”

“lie? scared? deacon, what-,” their words drifted into nothingness as deacon continued on.

“no matter how much i tried to run away from it, i knew i couldn’t. i had feelings for you. feelings more than this partnership that we both agreed to do, more than the best friends we claimed to be.” at this point, his feelings poured through the cracks of his heart and he knew that he would fix it this time, even if sole no longer felt the same way. “i fell for you hard. i was in love with you and i still am, sole.”

after a deep breath, he continued on. “you don’t have to forgive me. you don’t even have to give me the chance to love you properly, i just want you to know i’m sorry. i’m sorry it had to take you to leave from my life for me realize how much this meant to me. how much you meant to me.”

for a moment, it’s still; the air seems tense at first and time seems to freeze. there’s this sense of fear that overtakes his mind for a mere second.

soon enough, time seems to continue on as sole places a soft kiss on his forehead, allowing it to linger for a few seconds. “we’ll talk about this more when you wake up, okay?” they whisper and as reassuring as it sounds, he’s still terrified. terrified that he’ll wake up alone.

“will you be here when i wake up?” he tries to let it out calmly, but there is a hint of panic and unsureness in his voice he couldn’t push away any longer. all of that seems to melt away as sole lets out a small chuckle, his heart swelling with a mix of pain and relief.

“yes.” they reassure, “i’ll be here for as long as you need me.”

he let out a relieved sigh, keeping his hand on top of the one that covered his eyes. for the first time in weeks, everything finally felt right.

“love you, charmer.” before he could hear their reply, he felt himself being pulled into slumber that quietly called his name.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Notting Hill AU Snippet #10

Kara doesn't call.

Lena doesn't know if she wants her to, of if she just aches for a new kind of hurt, after the sting fades to a throb fades to a bonedeep sense of loss. When her therapist asks, she tells the truth: she doesn't know what she expected by inviting Kara Danvers into her home a second time. It had simply felt... right.

Weeks bleed together, time losing its meaning as Lena trudges through attempts from her friends to distract her. She sees Lex more than ever. He and Nia set her up on more than one date, but not one scratches Lena's surface.

"I could kill her for what she's done," Lena overhears Andrea telling Lex one night. "Look at her: it's as bad as Veronica."

"Worse, even." Lex's voice is low and concerned. He's always good for a laugh, but is at a loss when every single joke lands like a sack of bricks. Lena doesn't hear anymore. She slips out and texts an apology the next morning.

One day, Nia visits the bookshop with Querl in tow. She's radiant with excitement, enough so that even Lena nearly catches it.

"You are going to love me forever," Nia says, offering Lena a slip of paper. On it is written a phone number.

"What is this?" Lena asks.

"The number of Kara's agent in America."

The news hits Lena like a kick to the stomach. Her chest locks, and suddenly it feels like she can't breathe.

"I thought," Nia continues, suddenly nervous when Lena doesn't respond, "now you can finally call her. Now that things have calmed down. Get some closure, if nothing else..."

Lena still can't respond. Finally, Nia curls her hand around the slip of paper for her.

"Just, promise me you'll think about it, okay?"

It lives in Lena's pocket for a week, heavy and foreboding. Twice, she almost reaches for the phone. In the end, she throws it in the waste paper bin outside the shop and walks away.

---

One night, Lena finds herself sitting on her brother's couch. With Lex sitting next to her reading the paper and Andrea working on her laptop in the nearby armchair, the room is quiet. Normally, Lena prefers the silence, but tonight it weighs on her like a lead blanket.

"I should have known better, shouldn't I?"

The question slips from her without thought, marking the first time she's spoken of the great Kara Danvers debacle since it happened. Both Lex and Andrea look at her, and suddenly Lena's eyes fill with tears.

"Maybe-- maybe I'm just not meant for you two have. I should have taken the hint when my first crush fell in love with my brother instead. Spare myself the trouble."

"No," Andrea says, snapping her laptop shut and setting it aside to focus her entire attention on Lena. "No, just because I didn't love you the same way doesn't mean you aren't meant for happiness."

"Yeah," Lex chimes in. "And it's not been all sunshine and roses for us either. But the not so great moments are the entry fee you pay to get to the good stuff."

Lena wipes her eyes. She wonders if this was how the american colonies felt-- taxation without representation. Well, consider this her declaration. She's done.

"No," Andrea says again, recognizing the look on Lena's face. "You don't get to give up, Lena. We won't let you."

"Mmhmm," Lex agrees with his wife. "No one deserves to be happy more than you do. You'll get there... and maybe sooner rather than later."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Lex says, folding his newspaper and handing it over, "that someone's back in London."

"Lex..." Andrea warns.

"What?"

Their conversation fades out as Lena stares at the headline. Kara Danvers Returns. It features a picture of Kara in a ballgown, grasping her academy award with a beaming smile, and a second image of a filming location filled with actors in period costume. The caption identifies the location as Hampstead Heath.

Though the image of Kara brings fresh tears to her eyes, Lena feels a strange sense of calm. Kara is okay. In that moment, she realizes that so much of her anguish was the not knowing whether Kara had recovered from the media blitz that had ended their tryst so spectacularly.

Now she does, and Lena feels... okay.

She coughs a laugh, wiping her eyes again as she stands. "I should go."

"Oh, Lena..."

"No, Drea, I'm okay. Thank you." Lena sniffles. "For caring."

Andrea rises, enveloping Lena in a hug. "I do love you, you know. That's never not been true."

Lena nods. "I believe you."

---

For a few days, Lena thinks the peace of knowing Kara is okay will be enough. But three days after Lex hands her the newspaper, Lena finds herself in Hampstead Heath, walking past horse drawn carriages and crewhands working diligently, eyes peeled for a flash of blonde hair.

She runs into a production assistant first. "Can I help you?" he asks, subtly shifting to stand in her path and keep her from going any further.

"Um, yes, hopefully. I'm here to see Kara Danvers, if she's not busy. I'm a friend."

"A friend," the guy says, clearly unconvinced.

"Yes, as far-fetched as that seems. I--"

She stops abruptly when the sound of a familiar laugh drifts through the air. In an instant, Lena zeroes in on the source, and sees Kara stepping out of her trailer with her agent in tow, her face alight with mirth.

Her agent grins back, clearly pleased with herself as she peels off to head in a different direction. Kara joins up with a trio of other actors heading towards the south lawn of the hampstead manor. They pause briefly, and in that moment Kara turns, and their eyes meet.

Electricity fills Lena from head to toe, rooting her to the spot even as her hand lifts in a hesitant wave.

Kara stares for a moment more, until Lena carefully retracts her hand. Only then does she say a word to her costars and take her leave, closing the distance to where Lena stands with her new friend.

Said friend notices Kara's reaction and stands aside, allowing Lena to approach the picket line marking the boundary of the set. They meet on either side, neither speaking for a long moment.

"What're you doing here?"

Kara's question cuts like a knife, and Lena has to swallow against the sudden lump that rises to her throat.

"I heard you were in town," she says softly, "and I..."

Again, she doesn't know why she's here. She doesn't know what she wants to say or how she hopes this conversation will end. She's just... here.

For now, even with all things unsaid between them, it feels like enough.

"Excuse me, Kara?"

Another production assistant calls for Kara, and the moment shatters. Kara holds up one finger, earning them a few more seconds.

"Um, things aren't going very well, and it's our last day, so..."

"Right, you're clearly very busy, I shouldn't have--"

"But if you could wait?" Kara asks, cutting Lena off before she can bolt. Lena looks at her, and in Kara's gaze she sees nothing but a wary earnestness. "There are... things to say."

Lena feels herself nod. "Of course."

"Okay," Kara breathes. "Great. I'll come find you when I can?"

Lena nods again. Kara leaves, taking all the air in Lena's lungs with her. Lena flexes her trembling hands, then hides them in her pockets when someone approaches and offers to take her behind the cameras.

The walk through the cultivated garden filled with costumed actors is thrilling in its own way, allowing Lena a glimpse into Kara's life as an actor rather than just a celebrity.

"Here," her guide says, passing Lena off to the sound technician. "Bill here can hook you up with some headphones to listen in. The actors are already mic'd."

Lena offers Bill a smile of thanks when he hands her a headset. There's also a small monitor, allowing Lena to see what the cameras currently see-- Kara Danvers running lines with another woman.

"So I ask you when you're telling everyone, and you say..."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Right, and then I..." On the monitor, Kara nods under her lace parasol. "Got it. Thanks, Siobhan."

Her costar, Siobhan, nods, then leans back against the fence behind her. "So. Who was the hottie you were talking to on the way to set?"

With a jolt, Lena realizes that she's suddenly the topic of conversation. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, fidgeting with her headset-- but not removing it. Not yet.

"Oh. No one."

Lena swallows, her cheeks heating with a mortified flush. She was so stupid for coming here-- but Kara's not done.

"Just a friend from the past. It's actually kind of an awkward situation-- I don't know what she's doing here, actually."

The ground falls out from under Lena's feet, making her stomach swoop sickeningly. She tears the headset from her head, and shoves it back into Bill's hands.

"Sorry, I've got to--"

She doesn't bother finding an excuse. She simply bolts, and doesn't look back.

previous / next

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 7

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: as always, THANK YOU for reading! Thank you for reblogging (which is literally every author’s dream), liking, commenting (I DIE OVER YOUR COMMENTS/ASKS, THEY ARE THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY) and just reading in gereral! Enjoy!

Chapter 7. Lie to Me

series masterlist

Jimin finds himself robbed of breath as he watches that red thread dancing in the wind, the twin to his own. His heart is unsure of whether or not it wants to beat like a drum or stop altogether, leaving him clutching his chest.

Slowly, so slowly that it almost hurts, he brings his eyes up to the girl’s face. Only catching her side profile, he can’t help but be taken by surprise.

Soft is the first word that comes to mind when he catches sight of her eyes, her cheeks and nose. Her lips are pursed from where she must be biting them, making him emit a choked sigh. Her hair, falling around her shoulders, is deep with color.

He watches with no small amount of devastation as her eyes land on Elle’s figure, the cat already bounding down the stairs to greet her in the street. Coming to a stop, the woman crouches down and sets her groceries beside her. She reaches out to scratch Elle’s ears, and Jimin is unable to do anything but watch as those pursed lips ease out into a soft, beautiful smile.

It’s a smile, Jimin realizes, that he was meant to wake up to for the rest of his life.

Stuck in his trance, Jimin sees the woman pull her phone out and type out a quick message. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she grabs her groceries once again and begins to trek up the stairs.

Like the sound of a nail being hammered into his coffin, his phone pings with a text notification. He doesn’t look at it just yet, refusing to accept the reality. He keeps his eyes glued to the girl, his heart throwing itself at his ribs with undeniable vigor.

Step.

She turns to head up to the top right-hand apartment, Elle leading the way.

Step.

Now she’s fishing keys out of her pocket, saying something to Elle as the cat leaps through the window with ease.

Step.

She’s pressed up close to the door now, fumbling a little with the lock before the door gives way.

Step.

Making sure she has everything, the girl does a quick inventory of her bags, giving Jimin a complete view of her face for a split second before stepping inside.

Close.

The minutes tick by, but Jimin remains frozen in place, staring at that door with the number 6 hanging from it. The inside of his head turns into a hurricane, not giving him enough time to batter down the hatches before everything comes pouring down. Bringing a shaking hand to his mouth, Jimin finally tears his gaze from the door as it all becomes too much and the tears begin to stream down his face.

It’s there, quietly sobbing in his car, that Jimin realizes that he will be forever haunted by the image of his soulmate. And it’s there, one hand wringing the steering wheel while the other tries to silence his cries, that he curses the cruelty of fate.

Cutting the thread wasn’t enough, he knows that now. Just because his soulmate - Jolie is his soulmate’s name, how can a name be so beautiful? - cut the thread, doesn’t mean that she stopped fate. There are other common threads that bind them together.

Who could have expected it to come in the form of a cat?

Hands shaking violently, Jimin turns the key in the ignition. The bawdy tune on the radio is turned off the instant it comes on, and he’s left staring at his phone that sits atop his console.

Closing his eyes and grabbing it, he does his best to control his breathing. With tears still escaping his eyes, he looks at the message that arrived what feels like eons ago.

Jolie (Elle): Thanks for dropping Elle off! I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.

Jimin is at a complete loss for words, so he does the only thing he can.

He calls Namjoon.

✂

“Did you enjoy your night out?”

Elle preens on the kitchen counter, looking like she definitely did. I shoo her away, setting the groceries down and immediately beginning to put them away.

“Well, I’m glad. Good to know I was worried sick over nothing.” When Elle doesn’t begin to miraculously speak, I sigh. “You know, I went and saw that therapist today. The one my boss talked about a couple weeks ago.”

I pause for a moment, staring at the can of soup in my hands. Reading the nutrition label but hardly seeing it at all. It’s still early in the day, but I find myself already at a loss as to what I should be doing with the rest of the day.

“Now that you’re home, wanna go on a fieldtrip?” Elle perks up at my offer, tail lazily swishing back and forth. Putting the rest of my groceries away, I fumble around for my jacket. Then, staring at the envelope Namjoon gave me that still sits on my nightstand, I walk past it and grab a small business card sitting atop my dresser.

I have some homework to do.

If I’m supposed to come to terms with the events of the past couple of weeks, I might as well start with the person that assisted me in this entire process. That, and Christina may very well be the only person that doesn’t want to strangle me at the moment.

Chung-hei and Namjoon are supportive, but they see this as one thing and one thing only: wrong.

Elle is already waiting for me by the door when I reemerge, slipping the jacket on. She bounds out the door as soon as I open it, heading toward the small path that leads toward the park. I chuckle, the sound at odds with the uneasy feeling in my chest.

“Not that way,” I call to the confused cat. “We’re taking a bus to Itaewon.”

✂

Jimin is sitting on a stool by the kitchen island when the boys come stumbling through the door. He hardly flinches at the sudden change, only staring at the marble countertop. Staring at it like it might come up with the answers he needs, but not getting any input.

Namjoon received a call about an hour ago from Jimin, the younger boy nearly hyperventilating into the phone as he told him two things before dissolving into some sort of shocked silence.

“It was her.”

“Help.”

It didn’t take much for Namjoon to piece it all together. He had just been on the phone with Chung-hei that morning, trying to remember if Jolie had a white cat named Elle, and if Jimin was indeed in possession of that same cat.

Chung-hei had confirmed it, although she was just as shocked as Namjoon. What are the odds?

Apparently better than they thought, if Jimin’s current state is any indication.

Namjoon had wanted to stop Jimin, but after a long chat with his soulmate, he decided that it may be best to just let fate run its course.

Now, looking at Jimin who has finally lifted his head, he wonders if he was a fool for letting it go this far.

“Jimin-ah we’re home,” Taehyung announces, heading straight toward the island and taking a stool on his right. Yoongi takes the one on the left, Jungkook settling for wrapping his arms around Jimin’s shoulders and nuzzling his nose into his hair in the way that only Jungkook does.

Jin, j-hope, and Namjoon all weave around to stand on the opposite side of the island, exchanging worried glances. Unfortunately, none of them are experts in severed soulmate bonds. However, they do consider themselves to be Jimin experts.

Hopefully that will be enough.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” The question comes from Yoongi.

It falls silent as everyone waits for Jimin to speak. The quiet seems to be pressing in from all sides, nearly suffocating them.

Raising his head a bit more but not looking anywhere but the countertop, Jimin relinquishes his lip from where he was chewing on it.

“Her name is Jolie.” Jimin’s voice is still a bit shaky, but he pushes forward almost as though this is his only chance to get the words out before they’re forever locked up inside his mind. “Elle is...her cat. She was grocery shopping, I thought she was nice.”

“You talked to her?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin shakes his head. “No...not face to face. I had her number, when I thought I was just texting Elle’s owner. She seemed friendly.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Namjoon can’t fight the guilt anymore. “I’m...she probably is, Jimin. Good people make horrible decisions, sometimes.” He barely gets the words out without confessing all that he knows. He’s dying to, but he can’t. Something stops him, begging him to wait a little longer.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jimin sighs. “Elle loves her.” He stares burning holes through the countertop now. “She ran like a puppy once she saw her walking down the street. I think...she is a good person. So why…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his question, everybody is already thinking the same thing.

“Did she see you?” Taehyung wonders aloud, looking at his best friend with nothing but sweet concern.

“No, I was already in my car. But she...she texted me.” Jimin takes a moment before choking out the rest. “She thanked me for returning Elle. Said that she hoped it wasn’t too inconvenient for me.”

Once again, silence reigns in the apartment. It’s a rare occasion; these four walls are rarely quiet.

Hobi shuffles on his feet. “Have you thought about...you know…”

“What.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Texting her back?”

Jimin finally looks up, focusing on Hobi. “Text her back? What would I even say? Why….why?”

Namjoon jumps in. “I think it might be good, Jimin. It may help you to get some closure? Just get to know her a bit better. Maybe you’ll find out why she made this choice in the first place.” What he doesn’t tell him is that he’s been meticulously checking the mail every day for any sign of Jolie’s letter. If she hasn’t written to him yet, maybe this is another way for his friend to get closure?

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m the last person she’ll want to talk to.”

“She doesn’t have to know that it’s you,” Jin chimes in.

“And besides,” Namjoon continues. “I think that maybe today was some sort of sign. She can’t turn away forever, you know? Fate will always find a way.”

What he was hoping might be uplifting instead has Jimin turning to look at him, some sort of cold fire flickering in his eyes before sputtering out. “I don’t want fate or whatever this is,” he holds up his thread, “to just exhaust her into finally coming back to me! Is it too much to ask that she actually wants to be with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

Jimin rises from his seat, prepared to walk away. “I’m not you, Namjoon!” His voice echoes through the house. “I didn’t get the girl! She took one look at me and thought that it would be better to ruin my life than be a part of it!” Jimin’s chest rises and falls, his breath rattling with the threat of sobbing.

Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around Jimin, planting him in place. He’s always known Jimin so well; he knew that he would try to run and hide at some point during this conversation, to lick his wounds in peace without having to hurt anyone else. They’ll take it, though. They’ll take all of the barbed words in exchange for some sort of breakthrough. For Jimin to feel something again.

Jimin shakes his head, angry at himself for the tears and sobs that try to break through. “I’m so tired of crying, Namjoon.”

Namjoon remains on the opposite side of the island, unable to come up with anything to say, other than, “I’m sorry.”

But it’s Jungkook who musters up the courage to speak next. He’s quiet, still practically laying on Jimin and knowing that he’ll get away with it. Resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder, he sighs.

“Jimin-ah,” he begins, “You’re right, this is exhausting. But don’t you think that maybe she’s just...scared? And don’t you think she wouldn’t be so afraid if she got to know you? The Jimin that we all know isn’t scary, but all she’s ever seen are the promotions and concerts and suddenly she’s been thrown into a world where the one person that’s supposed to be her’s belongs to the entire world.”

The icy exterior that Jimin had been clinging to melts a little, his chin dropping to his chest. Jungkook sees the encouraging glances from his hyungs, and continues.

“It’s harmless to text her a little bit. Just get to know her. Let her get to know you. You can wait, to tell you who you are. But if you quit now, you will always wonder what could have happened.” Jungkook squeezes Jimin’s shoulders a bit tighter. “Do yourself a favor, and let it hurt a little more now so you can feel better in the future.”

“Rip off the bandaid,” Taehyung mumbles.

Yoongi stares at the countertop as well. “We’ll be here to help you know what to say, if you need help. But just because she shut you out, doesn’t mean that you should return the favor.”

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting it out. When he opens them again, the pain is still there. Like a splinter caught in his skin. Painful, but not unbearable. Not when he’s got more important tasks to attend to.

He looks up at Namjoon, his cheeks a little red from embarrassment due to his outburst. “I’m sorry, Joon. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

Namjoon shakes his head, offering up a small smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

At that moment the doorbell rings, everyone looking at each other with confused expressions. Jimin’s heart rate picks up, his imagination running while.

Did she see him? Does she somehow know what he’s planning to do? Is she angry and here to-

“Chicken!” Hobi shouts, bolting from the kitchen to the front door. Everyone dissolves into laughter, the uneasy tension from before dissolving a little.

Once Hobi returns with several boxes of chicken, explaining that he called for it just before entering the house, they turn back to the matter at hand.

Jimin stares down at his phone, wondering how on earth to begin. Jin coughs around his food before speaking.

“Just start with something that you have in common,” he suggests.

That common thread that is trying to no avail to bring them together.

Elle.

✂

Elle, I have come to learn, believes that she is above taking the bus. She must have gotten a hint of the high life last night with whoever she stayed with.

She’s currently poking her head out of my bag, which she immediately burrowed herself in upon finding boarding the bus. I smirk down at her, keeping my eyes averted from everyone else. It’s nice to have a little friend with me. It helps me ignore all of the people staring at me.

Or rather, my thread.

No one has dared to ask about it. Yet.

It should only take about twenty minutes to get to Itaewon. Hopefully that’s enough time for me to slip away before someone plucks up the courage to talk to me. If they approach, maybe Elle will hiss at them.

Judging by the way she’s nuzzled into my bag, I suppose that may be too much to wish for.

Riding the bus and watching the city slip past through the scratched windows has always been the strangest form of therapy for me. It’s crowded at times, loud and overall an awkward experience for many. However it’s often one of the places where I can just slip away. Dream with my eyes open as street shops and people drift into the rear view.

I’m just entering that dreamstate when I feel my phone vibrate. Slipping it out of my pocket and ignoring the whispers coming from a group of friends a couple of rows behind me, I glance at the new message.

It’s from the person that dropped Elle off, finally returning my message of gratitude.

UNK: It wasn’t inconvenient, don’t worry. If I’d had it my way, I would have hung out with Elle all day. 😸

I snort at the message, leveling Elle with a glare. “Sounds like you two are close.” Elle stares back up at me almost as though challenging me to do something about it. I roll my eyes. “You think you’re wrapped around their finger, huh? Watch and learn, princess.”

ME: Did you use the cat emoji bc of Elle or are you the kind of person that regularly uses cat emojis??

I wait with my phone in my hands, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I watch the person on the other side appear to be at a loss. Those three dots pop up for a moment before disappearing again.

It happens again and again, and I finally decide to put my phone away instead of watching them struggle to make up their mind. There’s only about ten minutes left of the trip, anyway.

Another five pass before my phone vibrates. Giving Elle a pointed look, I take a look at the response.

UNK: ...so what if I use cat emojis?

UNK: they’re there to be used, you know. Maybe you should quit ignoring them and give them a chance. 😿

“Ha!” It takes a moment before I remember that I should try my best to not appear like a crazy woman. “See?” I whisper madly. “They’re practically begging me to keep chatting.”

ME: Wow.

ME: I feel like you took that very personally. Elle didn’t tell me that you’d be like this.

There’s another stop, a few people getting off but many more getting on. Most of them sit down without sparing me a glance. Only when they’ve all settled down and gotten lost in their conversations or phones do I allow myself to relax.

UNK: are you the kind of person that talks to their cat??

I give a startled chuckle, delighting in the distraction this conversation is allowing me. Before I can fire off a response, another text comes through, making me stifle a laugh.

UNK: 😼

Maybe it’s the silly conversation, or the fact that Elle has gotten to a position where she can rub her head against my leg. Maybe it’s the view outside, the late afternoon sun pouring down on the people outside, and me, watching the world through the bus window.

For the first time that I can remember since I cut my thread, life seems a bit more manageable.

I feel like I can breathe.

✂

Jimin can’t breathe.

Not with the way all of the members have crowded around him on the couch, Jin still munching on some chicken while he peers over Jimin’s shoulder.

“I liked that last text. It was a nice touch,” Yoongi croons from Jimin’s side. “Gotta stick to a theme.”

The others grunt in agreement, hardly noticing the absolute strangeness of the situation. Taehyung slings his arm around Jimin on the other side, never once looking away from Jimin’s phone screen. He hums to himself while they wait for those fated three dots to appear.

Jungkook’s neck is about to break from the way he’s craning it, sitting on the floor before Taehyung’s legs. It’s a miracle that he can see anything at all.

“Is she texting yet?” He asks, hissing as he rubs a sore spot on his neck. He gives up trying to see what’s going on, facing forward again. Hobi, sitting beside Taehyung, automatically reaches down and begins massaging the younger’s neck.

“No, not yet,” Hobi sighs. “I wonder what - OH SHE’S TEXTING!”

Everyone presses in closer to Jimin, the boy in question gritting his teeth with anticipation. “Do you think she suspects? Have I been too obvious?”

Jin produces another chicken leg from somewhere, offering a bite to Namjoon who doesn’t hesitate to chow down. “No, she doesn’t. You’ve been totally aloof.”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Namjoon says around his food.

Together, the seven of them stare at those three dots rippling across the screen. When they disappear for a moment, everyone groans. It doesn’t take long before they reappear, and suddenly a message appears.

“What does it say?!” Jungkook scrambles to his knees, struggling to get a good view.

Jimin groans, shouldering his way forward until he’s leaning in front of everyone. “Shh, let me actually read it.”

Jolie (Elle): Haha, touché. I feel a little weird texting an unknown number...do you have a name I could save you under? Or should I just settle for a cat emoji?

“...what do I do?” Jimin turns to face the others, a flicker of panic painting his features. “I can’t tell her that it’s actually me...she’ll quit talking to me!”

Yoongi shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just give her a fake name. Like, Jaemin or something. Close enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, do Jaemin. Reminds me of James Corden trying to say your name,” Jungkook cackles.

Jimin looks at the other members with big eyes, waiting for some other offer. Something better. Taehyung pats his shoulder.

“I know you hate lying but...I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Sighing, Jimin types in a response. He holds up the phone for everyone to see, waiting for their grunts of approval before hitting send. A knock on the door has everyone except for Jin turning their heads.

“Don’t tell me you ordered something else,” Namjoon gripes. Jin just chuckles quietly, reappearing a few moments later with an armful of boxes. Jimin recognizes them immediately: it looks like an assortment of churros and other treats.

“Hyung,” Jungkook watches the procession with wide eyes. “What’s this?”

“Would you go grab the rest?” Jin asks instead of answering. Jungkook leaps to his feet, bounding toward the door where more treats await. His shouts of excitement drift back to the boys.

When everyone gives Jin an appalled look, he just shrugs his shoulders. “What? I figured that we’re going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

✂

UNK: No, I won’t make you stoop so low as to use a cat emoji. Park Jaemin should work fine.

I nearly stumble down the steps of the bus as I make the mistake of pulling my phone out to see the latest response. Once Elle and I have made it safely to the sidewalk, I proceed to stare at my phone in utter horror.

Rereading that name again and again until I’m sure that I’m reading it correctly.

Why did it have to be such a similar name?

There’s a slight tremor to my hands as I try to come up with something to say. Saving the number, I take a deep breath. Elle watches me from the safety of my bag, mewling softly.

“Gimme a sec,” I sigh. “Is this some sort of cruel joke?” My mind is spinning too quickly to think clearly, so I pocket the infernal device and take a moment to orient myself. Heading down the street, I wait until I’ve made it a block before attempting to form a reply.

It would appear that my new friend is a little impatient. By the time I stop on the corner, there’s already another text waiting for me. The new contact name has me gritting my teeth, but I push past the initial shock that rocks me.

Park Jaemin 🙀: Unless you don’t like that name? I could always choose a different one.

“He’s a little...weird.” I glance down at Elle, who seems inclined to agree with me. “But nice, I think.” Mustering up all of my courage, I punch out a reply and send it before I can think twice about it.

ME: That’s fine. Jaemin it is. I just didn’t realize you were a guy? Elle always seemed wary of guys.

I set off down the street, finding it a bit different in the daylight than it was at night. That, and this time I’m not a hyperventilating mess. It doesn’t take long before I’m turning down an alley that I realize I’ve been seeing in my dreams lately, heading toward the tell-tale gray apartment with the warehouse attached to it.

There’s another text notification reaching my ears, but I ignore it for the moment. Knocking hard on the door, I wait to hear footsteps.

It takes a couple of attempts before a distant voice shouts, “Coming!” A few seconds later, the door is cracked open to reveal a disgruntled Christina.

She gives me a long look, recognition sparking in her eyes even as she looks entirely unimpressed by me. She eyes Elle, who stares right back at her.

“You know I don’t do refunds, right?”

There’s another text coming through, but I ignore it again. Instead I plaster on my best smile, which Christina sees right through.

“I know. That’s not why I’m here.” Glancing up and down the alley, I rub at my arms. Fighting off the sudden chill. “Mind if I come in?”

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[tiffdawg]

Two Halves | A Javier Peña x Reader Oneshot

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: T | Warnings: A dash of angst but only to make the fluff sweeter. Alcohol. 

Request: Part of the 500 Celebration! @jigglemiwa requested 49 (You’re the best part of me) or 42 (You keep that photo of us in your wallet?) from this list with Javier Peña. I thought these were great prompts so I used both! Thank you for the request – this was so much fun to write!

A/N: This is so soft y’all. I was blushing while I wrote it. 

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

… . …

Two Halves

It was like any other night after a long day of work. You were at the usual bar a few blocks away from the embassy apartment complex with a warming glass of tequila cradled between your hands. Javier sat next to you, his discarded jacket thrown over the back of his barstool, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked as tired and disheveled as you felt.

It was a quiet evening, both in the bar where a few other patrons milled about, nursing drinks and chatting idly with whoever would listen, and between you and your partner. Or, former partner. That was what made that night unique: it was your last night together in Bogotá.

Now that the Cali Cartel had folded in on itself, the DEA’s presence in Colombia was downsizing and most attachés were transferring elsewhere. You had a lucrative offer for a position in Mexico. And yet, you were wavering as an inexplicable bout of indecision kept you from making a final call about your future. You’d thought that the last day of work would bring some sense of closure or light a fire under you that would make your decision easier. But it hadn’t. Even then, as you traced the rim of your glass, you couldn’t make up your mind. You were much too busy stealing glances at the man sitting next to you.

As for Javier Peña, his job was done, and he was going home. When he asked you to grab a drink with him that night, you’d expected he would be in a bit of a celebratory spirit. Instead, he was in one of his introspective moods, preferring to sit quietly next to you as he lost himself in his own mind. You doubted he’d ever admit it, but you knew he preferred to have someone by his side, even in moments like that. And if you were being honest with yourself, so did you – especially if it was him.

So, the two of you fell into an old, familiar silence broken only by a deep baritone crooning in Spanish that crackled softy through an old radio behind the bar. You weren’t paying close enough attention to make out the lyrics but if you had to guess, he was probably singing about love. They always were. 

Javier sighed at the last sip of tequila in his glass before downing it. As if he’d been waiting for his cue, the bartender appeared and asked if he wanted another round. Javier turned to you with a raised brow.

You finished off the last of your drink and set your empty glass next to his. You’d had a couple of drinks over as many hours. You could get away with one more. “Why not?” 

While the bartender made your drinks, you watched Javier as he leaned against the counter, head held in one hand as he traced the veins of the wood with the pad of his finger. He’d been contemplating something the entire night and had yet to work out a solution to his problem. And it weighed heavily on his mind. You couldn’t figure out what was bothering him so much. His job was over. That heavy burden he’d been carrying around for years had been lifted from his shoulders and he was free from the DEA. Even if he’d never said it out loud before, you knew that was what he wanted deep down. He should’ve been happy.

Just as you opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong, a pair of drinks were placed in front you. You thanked the bartender and pulled your glass toward you. As always, Javier reached for his wallet to pay the tab. And, as always, you tried to stop him.

“Javi, you don’t–” 

“I want to,” he insisted, cutting you off before you could protest, “It’s our last night out together, cariño.”

Your cheeks warmed at his favorite name for you. It never seemed to lose its effect on you. Of course, you would’ve preferred it if he meant its true sentiment. And while you didn’t want to admit to yourself that it was the last night you would spend with him, he was finally talking, so you tried to make light of the situation. “Can you believe that? That it’s all over?”

He only shook his head, his face pinching in a slight scowl, as he counted out the correct payment and a generous tip. As he sorted through his cash, something fell from between two crisp bills. You recognized it immediately: it was a photo strip from an old camera booth. The film was faded and bent, well-worn and maybe even well loved. As if It had been hidden away in his wallet for a while, but repeatedly handled. In fact, you could’ve guessed just how long he’d been carrying it around down to the day.

“You keep those photos of us in your wallet?” you asked, your voice not quite hiding your disbelief, as you gently picked up the photo strip. It was a lost memory from one drunken night out when the two of you were trying to unwind after a particularly bad day. In each of the two frames, the two of you were grinning. First, happily at the camera – or, at least, in the general direction of the camera – and then at each other. 

“I just– I like to look at it sometimes. When, you know–” Javier stumbled, clearly caught off guard. “It’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s not,” you assured. You tore your eyes from your smiling faces in the photos to look at him, silently pleading for him to continue with a careful hand on his arm.

He faltered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally spoke. “It helps when you’re not around. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you keeping me in line all the time. Sometimes I look at you and I– I know what I need to do.” He finally looked at you, his dark eyes shining with some new emotion. “You make me want to be better. Hell, you’re the best part of me.” 

“Javi,” you sighed as you blinked away the unwanted tears blurring your vision. 

“I know I shouldn’t say that–”

“No. No, you don’t understand.” The two of you regarded each other for a drawn-out breath. He watched you carefully, waiting for you to explain, as you racked your brain for the right words. Coming up short, you swallowed hard and tried a different approach. “Can I show you something?”

His brows furrowed adorably at you and you resisted the urge to laugh. Reaching for your purse, you took your own wallet and shuffled through the crumpled bills until you found what you were searching for.

You gingerly set the last two frames of the photo strip on the counter, aligning the torn edge perfectly with Javier’s photos to complete the picture. “I like to keep you close too,” you said softly. “Sometimes I– I need you.” 

Javier’s expression shifted into some mix of shock and awe that looked rather foreign on him as he considered your statement and the completed photo strip laid out before him. In the back of your mind, you’d always wondered if the torn edge on yours matched with a second set of photos. Together, the four frames told the story of one stolen moment as it unfolded between the two of you. In an almost reverent gesture, he picked up your half and ran his thumb over the last frame. It was a blurry black and white photo of him cradling your face as he pressed his lips to yours.

“I kissed you?” he asked breathlessly.

“Apparently,” you said with a nervous laugh that was more of a sigh. “Don’t feel bad. We’d had a few too many that night. I don’t remember it either.”

“I wish I did,” he mumbled. When he faced you again, he almost looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared,” you answered with a shrug. “I didn’t know if you remembered. And if you did, you never said anything about it, so I thought you might’ve wanted to forget.”

“Cariño, I don’t think you understand,” he sighed, running a hand over his mouth as he placed your half under his again before turning his body toward yours. “I’ve been sitting here all night trying to figure out how to tell you that I love you.”

The chill that ran down your spine was followed by the sweetest warmth spreading from your chest throughout your body. And the tiniest oh escaped past your parted lips at his confession. “I think you just did.”

“I guess so,” he beamed as a look of relief washed over him. “I love you,” he said easily.

“I love you too, Javier,” you promised, finally speaking those words aloud to him you’d felt in your heart for so long.

You both moved at the same instant, leaning in to crash your lips together in a long-awaited second kiss. One neither of you would forget. As his hands cupped your face to hold you near, your lips came together and pulled apart again and again, you smiled into his kiss at the thought that the two of you must’ve looked just as you did in that photo you cherished so much.

“What?” he asked, leaning away just enough to look at you.

“Nothing. I’m just really happy,” you said wetly. You’d wanted that – wanted him – for so long. You’d all but resigned yourself to the idea that the photo of a kiss you didn’t remember was the closest you’d ever get to the real thing. But the real thing was so much better than you ever could’ve imagined. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

“I know what you mean.” When he spoke next, his tone shifted to something more serious. “Wherever you go next, I’ll follow.” Javier knew about your job offer. You’d attempted to solicit his advice about it on numerous occasions. Only then did his reluctance to help you make sense. “I just want to be with you, mi amor.”

You knew he was sincere. You heard it in his steady voice. Saw it in his determined eyes. And felt it in your heart. There would be no separating the two of you now. As you took in the tired lines of his handsome face, you knew exactly what you wanted the future to look like for the both of you. All of your doubt and indecision faded away as you finally allowed yourself to ask for what you wanted most. 

“I want out,” you admitted with an exhausted exhalation. “I don’t want to go to Mexico or anywhere else they might try to send me. I want to go home, Javi. I want to go home with you.”

Without another word, he picked up the two halves of the photo strip and tucked them both safely in his wallet. For some reason, you doubted you would get yours back. Then he stood and held out a hand to you. “Let’s get out of here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you teased, rolling your eyes even as you slipped your hand into his.

“I know what you meant,” he scoffed as he led you out of the bar and toward. “We have plans to make. Together.”

“I like the sound of that,” you said around a smile as you leaned into his side.

“Although,” Javier drawled as he stopped walking and pulled you into him with two strong hands on your hips, “We definitely need to make up for lost time.” He nuzzled his nose against yours before capturing your bottom lip between his plush ones. It was a kiss so soft and slow it made you dizzy. He was intoxicating in a whole new way. Better than the finest alcohol. And you’d happily drink him in as long as you could.

“I think we can multitask,” you quipped, in between heated kisses. He hummed his agreement but made no move to part from you. The two of you stayed like that for a long time, kissing under the golden beam of a streetlight on a quiet road in Bogotá. It would’ve made for a lovely photograph.

In the end, you never got your half of the photo back from him. But it didn’t matter. Years later, that photo strip sat framed on the nightstand next to your shared bed with a single piece of clear tape forever mending the two halves.

... . ...

Thank you for reading!

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[pollylynn]

Title: A Trembling Of  WC: 1800

“How’s that for love?”  — Tildy Maguire, For Better or Worse (6 x 23) 

He loves her and he fears her. These are the anchoring points of their relationship—the anchoring points of his whole world, these days, and three words from a city employee should not be able to pry them up and set the two of them adrift. Proof of divorce? Nothing in this or any other universe should be able to pry them up and set the two of them adrift, and yet here they are. He loves her no less—he could never love her any less—but right now, he fears for her, and that is a rip in the very fabric of reality. But how can he do otherwise? 

Here she is, silent in the back of the cab.  She has not said—will not say—one word as they lurch their way through the horrors of late afternoon traffic in Manhattan, and he’d like to think it’s the inadequate privacy offered by the plexiglass barrier that has sealed her lips. He’d like to believe that she’s so enchanted by the memory of the days when Paul Sorvino or Joe Torre or Eartha Kitt reminded New York taxi passengers to buckle up, take their belongings, get a receipt before exiting the back seat, she has nothing to say about the present. He’d like to believe that three words from a city employee have not fundamentally altered her lovable, fear-inspiring self, and yet . . . 

Here she is, finally home, and yet there is nothing like relief here. There is nothing like relief anywhere in sight. Here she is with her head in her hands, and they’re telling his mother, they’re telling his daughter, because they kind of have to tell them. They very probably are kind of going to have to tell everyone, but this tiny test balloon at him is so awful. 

His mother—she of the child-producing one-night stand with a probable sociopath is volubly incredulous: Who is Rogan O’Leary? His daughter—she of the lease with the bee-counting, continent-hopping, passport-losing peace disturbing Pi is volubly appalled: And you married him? He of an untold number of colossal mistakes in the personal and professional realms, in the public eye and in private, is damnably smug: And here I thought you were a one and done kind of girl.

He regrets it the instant it’s out of his mouth. He bounces around the tattered remnants of reality. He goes back in time and regrets it, except there is a moment, there is an instant, there is the merest spark of absolute fury behind her eyes, and he feels the world come right. He feels reality knitting itself back up again. He feels himself quaking in his bespoke boots, secure in the knowledge that she will make him pay, and he is fine with that. He is absolutely fine.  

He loves her and he fears her, these are the anchors of his entire world, gloriously restored, and that is just as it should be. 

*****************************

He loves her and he fears her and he loves her just that little bit more when everything fearsome about her is directed at someone else. Oh, how he loves being able to watch the fireworks from minimum safe distance, so he’s excited when she sets off for Willow Creek. He’s racked with guilt and uncertainty, too, because she’s going alone and he worries that it’s self-flagellation—that it’s an occasion to be afraid for her—but ultimately, he’s excited. 

She is determined when she leaves. She has her keys clutched in her fist and she won’t take an overnight bag. 

“Not even a toothbrush?” He turns up the innocence. It’s a calculated risk. It’s more fuel for the fire that burning in her, fierce and bright now, and it works.

“Not. Even. A toothbrush.” She enunciates each and every letter. She grabs the front of his shirt with her free hand and reels him in until they’re sharing air molecules. “Won’t need it.”

And then she’s gone, but not gone. 

She is on the other end of the phone as soon as she has hunted down her soon-but-not-soon-enough-to-be ex. She is fierce, roaring as she rails against the stupidity of the quest he’s sent her on. 

“Like he’s the damned Wizard of Oz,” she snarls.

“More like the Wizard of Id,” he quips. He’s thinking about being eighteen and all primitive instinct. He’s thinking about drunken nights on the strip and impulse weddings. He’s not really thinking, and it’s fuel for the fire. He swears she’s scorched his ear, she’s scorched the whole side of his brain closest to the phone, so maybe that’s a little too much fuel. 

Except he thinks that might be what sustains her through the abduction of Rogan, through the indifference and grudging pity of the local constabulary. He tells himself on his own frantic drive up to Willow Creek that he’s managed to make her spitting mad enough that she’s not sitting there, alone, with her head in her hands. 

It’s true. It’s mostly true that she’s down to embers when he gets there, but there’s more than enough Logan-related fury to go around. There’s coma wife and the sheer madness of digging through his pornographic electronic mash notes. There are bikers and strippers and a murderous mob boss. There is an entire Logan-based mad, mad, mad, mad world and she is definitely mad about it. 

She is quick thinking and—other than a few slightly moist moments about the dress—she is laser focused on getting this done. She is mean to Logan, and after the whole Man Parts contretemps, that is a delight and a turn on and the world turning beautifully on its axis precisely as it should turn. 

She is a warrior goddess, hell bent on marrying him—him—and he is blown away by that honor and privilege.

He loves her. He fears her. He’s going to marry her. 

*********************

He loves her. He just loves her. It’s hard for them to part ways in stupid Willow Creek, but there’s really nothing for it. She has her car, and he has his. He has to get to the city. He has to start the paperwork on its warp speed journey through the system, and she has to get to the Hamptons to figure out what she’s going to wear. 

“I’m all for nothing at—“ 

She cuts that off with a twist of his ear that takes him right back to the beginning—right back to when she was Our Lady of Smug, patron saint of the One and Done Girl—and that makes it really hard to part ways, because he would love to get in some last-minute fear and trembling in one back seat or the other before she makes an honest man of him. He really would but there’s just no time. He has to settle for backing her up hard against the driver’s side door of her car and kissing the life out of her. He has to settle for the same as she backs him up hard against the passenger side door of his car where it’s pulled up alongside hers. They have to settle for peeling their bodies apart, breathless, eager, and reluctant, all at once. 

“Be safe,” she breathes, her forehead pressed against his. “Hurry, but be safe.” 

“You, too.” He steals one last kiss, then hurries around the hood to slide behind the wheel, to get on with it. 

He’s not three miles down the road when his phone rings through the car’s bluetooth. He feels an eager grin spread across his face as he thumbs the button. “Miss me already?” 

“No,” she retorts immediately, adamantly. “Yes,” she admits slowly, reluctantly. “Shut up,” she orders, shooting an arrow of fear right through his heart, though it softens—it downright melts—when she adds, “Keep me company.” 

He does. He keeps her company, though there’s not a lot of heavy lifting involved. She wants to talk—a positivity rarity for her—and other than her, there’s little he loves more in this stitched-up, much-mended reality than to listen when the mood strikes her. So he listens as she wanders far and wide, as she roams through the month or so of Rogan, and when the time is right, he is going to have so many follow-up questions about where Eddie Vedder’s jean jacket wound up and exactly how far she can chuck a hoagie while running down the strip full tilt. 

It’s not all fun and games, though. How could it be? But it’s okay. He loves her. He loves her, and when it comes to the place where this was always leading, he’s there. He’s on the other end of the phone. He’s listening. 

“I was married then. When my mom died.” Her voice is even. It’s controlled, though he can hear her heaving a shaky sigh. “I told her the whole saga.” Another shaky sigh.”Almost the whole saga with Rogan. We laughed about it.” There’s a silence long enough that he’s worried the call has dropped, but her voice fills up the speakers again. “I feel like I have to . . . confess to her or something. Give her a chance to say I told you so. I feel like I owe her that.” 

It’s a heartsore place for things to land. He doesn’t have a joke or anything gallant locked and loaded, but that doesn’t feel right anyway. He’d tear another hole in the fabric of reality if he could. He’d give her closure. He will give her closure if he can—a trip to her mom’s grave with her hand in his, a letter written and burned, its ashes scattered on the wind, whatever she wants, he’ll do. 

“I’m okay, Castle,” she says quietly, she says knowing he was wondering. “Really.” 

“I know you are,” he says, and it’s true. “I’m glad you are.” 

That’s true, too, in the most comprehensive sense. He is glad she’s okay. He is glad of whoever, whatever, however she is in any given moment.  

He hears the road beneath his own tires, the road beneath hers. She stays on the line, though she is quiet now and a little sad. She wants things he can’t give her—he hasn’t yet devised a way to give her—and that’s a little maddening. But she is more than okay, and he is more than okay with that. She is fierce and fear-inducing and lonely for her mom and a little bit raw right now.

He loves her and he fears her. He has the twin anchors for his whole world on the other end of the line. That’s as it should be.

A/N: A group of finches is called a trembling. That is a thing. This is not a thing. It is an uneven atrocity, not a thing. 

images via homeofthenutty

[maruzzewrites]

Every breath you take. - 8

The drive was quiet, if only for the lack of attention you had for your surroundings. Each curve and streetlight was ingrained in your brain, your hands following the journey to your house with ease, allowing your mind to wander to the magic, dreamy land where you could imagine being safe and sound away from those men. Free and untroubled, allowing yourself to relax to the point of destruction, welcoming the contained stress of those months.

Before you could think too much, you were right in front of your house and your car was parked in the usual spot. You were in a trance, with your overworked brain straining to stop tearing and aching for the thoughts plaguing it. You slumped against the seat and turned off the car, enjoying the complete silence that came with the engine shutting down and the emptiness of the street. When you closed your eyes to give yourself away even more, they burned with the intensity of fatigue. You even felt yourself drift to sleep, slowly, before a swift knock on the car’s window made you jump.

You threw your head to the side, your vision a bit fuzzy, and saw the figure of a man right outside your car. Panic washed over you, but when the face that was looking at you become clearer, your fear morphed into worry and regret. Your fiance, or ex-fiance. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but figured he deserved any type of clarification or closure he asked for. He even deserved to yell and get angry, tearing into you to destroy what little hope you had left and push you fully into the cold feeling of not caring what would happen to you, giving up the prospect of freedom completely. You shook your head at the notion, and climbed out of the car before you could allow yourself to drown into your anxieties more.

When you were standing up, in front of him, you forced yourself to look him in the eyes. No matter how many times your gaze slipped and lowered, you pushed yourself to raise your head and wait for him to speak; no matter what, your throat was too dry to allow you to talk first, even if it was your duty to apologize and let him go. Despite a few seconds passing from the moment you were standing in front of him to the first words coming from his mouth, you felt the weight of each single second that ticked away and dropped on your mind, making you feel even more oppressed than you needed to.

“You look tired,” his voice didn’t betray any sentiment that wasn’t worry or apprehension, and you hated yourself ten times more with each note of concern. Any good resolution to keep your gaze steady and somber collapsed along with your eyes, pointed down and burning with tears. But you had to contain yourself, in front of him, so that he could just walk away. It didn’t matter if it was with bitter feelings or resentment towards you, until it meant he was far away from harm. Yet, you could head in his tone he wasn’t inclined to go along with your plan, “You don’t have to shoulder this, I’m here for you.”

It was a blow, hard and fast, knocking you out. You didn’t know how to answer or how to convince him to leave you alone, build his life differently, most of all because your heart ached at the thought. You didn’t want him to abandon you and find someone else, create a family and a future with them, it was supposed to be you. Selfish, and egotistical, but you wanted nothing more than to turn back and prevent yourself from throwing your life to those brutes who were only tearing it to shreds. You were allowing them to do so and no matter what path you would take, someone would suffer from it – never them, it seemed.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave you like this.” The finality, with the sweet consideration, it choked you to the point you couldn’t keep your tears from spilling, your voice cracked before even coming out. Your mind shattered for the umpteenth time, and your fiance was there to avoid losing the shards. He approached you, held you in his arms, reassured you that he would back off if you wanted to, but his words were clear and loud in their veiled self-assurance that you didn’t desire for him to go away, not for real.

All the while, you breathed with shallow and forced mouthfuls, your throat shut tight for the anxiety, the guilt, the hatred and the shame. All your fault, it was all your fault, it didn’t matter how much your rational thoughts screamed your innocence; if only you weren’t so weak and passive, those men wouldn’t see an inviting prey to their twisted game. Your fingers wouldn’t dig into your fiance’s back in an ambiguous tug to bring him closer and push him away. You wouldn’t fear your parents seeing you from the windows of your home in a way that you wouldn’t be able to explain without the whole story. And you were too tired, exhausted, to really conjure excuses and lies, cover the truth just for the peace of your loved ones.

In the safe embrace of your beloved, you crushed. It was ugly, but it was silent, kept intimate by the lingering terror of those assassins. And it was done before you could allow yourself to really let it all out, just to explain that you needed a bit of time, just patience to recompose yourself. In time, those men would leave you alone and you could come back to him, you begged for his forgiveness and his understanding, but you pleaded for him not to wait for you. The hurt in his eyes was enough to break what remained of your heart, and the promise he made to be there for you was the final cut.

“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” He answered your last supplication for him to move on with a curt and gentle statement, and you were left with nothing to do but exhale a shaky breath. He offered the subtlest of smiles to you, leaned in to give you a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, and walked away slowly. You kept your head low, and didn’t raise it until his steps couldn’t be heard anymore. You scanned the street and found it empty, the feeling filling you a mix of calm and regret. You turned you walk towards your house and found the entrance door open. You frowned at the carelessness of whoever left the apartment complex open to intruders, but figured one of your neighbors just left it like that for a quick errand. You stepped in the common grounds, locked the door in a way that would prevent it from closing and walked towards the first steps of the staircase, deep down the vast courtyard.

Oddly enough, the door slammed shut on the other side. You turned quickly, but saw no one there to enter. You were alone and the wind was too weak that day to be of much help with the violent bang. At first, you considered going back and opening it again, but decided against it just in case someone sneaked in and was waiting to ambush you. You bit your tongue at your paranoid thought, just another deformity brought to you by the last months, but you reassured yourself with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, in that city.

With the assumption that you would prefer to avoid any danger, you sprinted up the stairs and threw some glances towards the front door. No one in sight, not even trying to run after you, so you relax right before the entrance could disappear before your eyes. Climbing the stairs is a dreadful affair, if only because of the sensation of being at home, inside those walls that offered security for your entire life. You could allow yourself to fall apart in that privacy, show the weariness, and strain of that burden. The soft click of the key opening the wood door felt like the alarm that warned your brain of safety. Oddly enough, your idea of safety shaped into the possibility of torturing yourself in complete freedom and privacy in a few months; the taste of that thought was bitter and sour, leaving you with a grimace.

Once inside, you debated with yourself about announcing you were home, but you were anticipated by the quick steps of your mother from the living room. You knew the rhythm of her walk, somewhere between excitement and confusion, ready to rush towards the source of news that more easily could provide her with the right information. It just happened that you were the source, that time. She surfaced in a few instants at the door separating the hallway from the living room, and her face lightened up when she was sure it was you.

She nudged you into the room, window wide open and two cups of mugs peacefully sitting on the dining table, the one she would always insist on leaving without a stain and only using during the holidays. You frowned at the odd display, but her voice came to talk about someone. Someone who was there right before you arrived, and maybe you met him on your way up. Your mother wondered if that was the reason you took so much time outside your house, as she noticed your car coming up from the window and the stranger quickly excusing himself to meet you right outside the door. She giggled as she recollected the sound of a man’s voice outside the window, in the silent street. And your frown only deepened, with the muttered question of who she was talking about.

“Your friend,” she sounded genuinely confused, her head tilted as if she didn’t hear correctly. She blinked once, looked over the open window and then down the hallway where the front door was. She turned back to you after a second, a note of thoughtfulness in her words, “Blonde, slim. He introduced himself as a friend of yours, someone you knew very intimately.”

Her gaze turned soft, with strokes of complicity painting it. She lowered her voice as if she was sharing a secret with you, “You don’t have to hide it, you know,” her tone was aggravating to your nerves, your mind already working and turning to make sense of everything presented to you. You weren’t that naïve that you didn’t understand what was happening, not with your mother description of this man who walked into your house, but deep down your irrational brain was pushing the notion away so that you didn’t have to process it to its full extent. However, you weren’t granted that luxury, not with your mother continuing to talk, “Is he the reason you were nervous lately? And you ended your relationship?”

You were incredulous. The mixture of emotions inside of you, too overwhelming to be separated and named with precision, made you dizzy and unable to react properly in the seconds right after her questions. By the way her face changed in a look of pure confusion and light worry, you could understand your own features morphed into the close approximation of your internal turmoil. In the confusion in your own head, your mind scrambled and trashed to grip anything to anchor an emotion, any among the amalgamation, and eventually settled on indignation. Cold, vicious outrage that was born from abuse you had to endure, unable to take concrete form before melting into anxiety for the entirety of your permanence in that house.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that.” Your answer was final and cutting, more frigid than anything you had ever said before, especially to your parents. Your mother’s disbelief was so genuine and sudden that she didn’t have time to berate you, grumbling about misunderstandings and moodiness while she collected the cups from the table and disappeared somewhere. You didn’t follow her with your eyes, too focused in front of you. Then you turned to the window, with the gentle breeze coming in and leading you to the edge to look down.

There, kissed by the sun, was Prosciutto. Leaning on the side of your car, close to the front door of your apartment building. He was smoking, and the cigarette was lazily hanging from his lips as his head with tip back. His unfocused gaze shifted to you when he detected motion at your house’s window, and his hand left his pocket to take the cigarette between his index and middle finger to let out a puff of smoke. Barely anything changed in his behavior, he didn’t wave, he didn’t smile, just looked at you while lounging in front of your house. In your space, where you could be safe and away from their prying hands, their creepy and frightening presence.

It was impetus, a surge of anger you bottled up for far too long, that made you move away from that window in a hurry. You barged in your own room, bringing all that negativity inside of your calm and placid sanctuary, and threw your drawer open. You didn’t ponder on it too much, grabbing whatever could be caught in your trembling hands and letting everything else fall to its destiny, on the floor, with a noise that sounded too loud in your ears. Yet, you didn’t pay any mind to the mess or the highlighted senses, storming into the living room with heavy steps, hasty and unsteady with emotion fueling them.

Your hand found the windowsill, gripping it tightly in a matter of seconds. A quick look down and you could see Prosciutto was still there, his feet now crossed and his eyes looking in front of him, his head lightly tilted in the direction of the front door. The flame inside of you flickered in a last sparkle of bravery, just what you needed to raise your hand and throw whatever was in your hand down. The pocket mirror and the jewelry hit the ground, and the noise cut the air into a loaded silence as Prosciutto’s head whipped in the direction of the ruined trinkets.

Time seemed to have stopped, if only enough to let your courage cool down, solidify into a monument for the fear building up. Prosciutto’s eyes raised, slowly, and you could imagine the narrow slits of his eyes wound your skin, bruising your resolve. Despite seeing the entire scene in front of you, the details seemed foggy and distant, helped by the distance between you and him. However, you could feel the burning glare dragging the bile in your throat up, up, until it lapped at your tongue and palate. It felt corrosive, and alien, almost too much to bear; Prosciutto’s hand raised again, and you flinched as if he was about to strike you across the face.

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between his thumb and index, and then he flicked it away from him and onto the street. It landed somewhere near the remains of their gifts, still lit, and when your gaze shifted towards your car, Prosciutto was already walking away in the direction that would bring him farther away from the right path for his house. You followed his silhouette as it got smaller and darker, a simple dot in the gray of the street, and then your eyes dropped to the mess you made.

Shattered, broken in small pieces, all across the narrow street. Tomorrow, you would probably find it there to greet you when you stepped outside. The cigarette continued to burn, consume itself on the concrete, falling apart with agonizing slowness. Despite being so far away and so small, you felt like you could smell it, for how much you grew to know its shape and scent. Slender and elegant, so common at his lips that you could barely imagine him without, and you wanted to puke at the familiarity of that image.

The show in display to you, of the corpse made by your own hands, was enough to make your stomach close, twist and knot in painful, disgusting ways. It had been an impulsive choice, dictated by false safety and the violation of the only fantasy you allowed yourself in your situation, a dream where you could close the door of your house and the would disappear, not cross the imaginary boundary you set to feel as if you could escape or, at least, pretend to. Even then, when you retreated in your room, you felt your throat tighten dangerously at the sight of what was left on the floor, as clues of your fleeting rage.

You bent down to pick up the hairband and twisted it between your fingers, stretching out the cheap rubber band keeping it together and functional. You were suddenly captured by an odd state, where your mind couldn’t stop thinking about what you did – no, what happened, you did nothing – and, yet, it was like your mind was completely blank. A static silence in your ears, pushing any sound outside to be ignored, while your brain run after a thought, the concept of the chaos you may have created for yourself. However, it was a confused chase in the dark as you couldn’t grasp and focus on the current situation.

What could happen, would Prosciutto really tell his teammates what you did? Or was he too proud of a man to really confide in the only people who could be called his friends or confidantes? It was unnerving how little you knew of them and, no matter how much you felt their eyes on you or how much they deluded themselves, they knew next to nothing about you. They barely seemed to know anything about other human beings, how they operate and how they would build their lives outside the line of organized crime. You swallowed the lump in your throat, suddenly coming back in room after the gloomy thought shoved you back to reality to defend yourself from other dark considerations.

You left the hairband on the desk, unsure about finally dumping it inside the trashcan you left in your room. Then, you noticed the phone you left at home all day, checking the notifications that you had. Obviously, some calls from numbers you didn’t memorize, but could identify at first glance. After getting rid of those notifications, you noticed how some of your own friends attempted to call you during the day and, in the end, a single missed call from your fiance.

Conflict started inside of you, but you forced yourself to ignore his attempt to call you. After all, you were sure he did so only to talk and before he started to wait for you outside your house. You grimaced at the thought that he could have met Prosciutto, getting out of your home just before leaving, and for a moment a cold flash of horror crossed your brain. Prosciutto did go in the same direction as your fiance. For your peace of mind, you shook your head at the notion and pushed yourself to call your friends.

All it took was a few rings, then a familiar voice greeted you with cheerful energy. You responded, but she didn’t even notice the evident drain in your tone before she went on a rant about how she met a nice man that day. There was a note in her voice, as if she was trying to communicate a complicit wink with her voice. You didn’t like it at all, making your hand clench with the implications that you didn’t want to understand. She continues, about a bony scientist with odd hair and an even weirder outfit approaching her in the streets, as if they knew each other. He said he was a friend of yours, how much you talked about her and the rest of the group, he even showed a photo of you without much on that could indicate anything but closeness with him.

Your lips felt too dry to open and speak, your eyes fixed on the wall in front of you as you slowly lowered yourself on the bed. You felt ill at the second instance of invasion of your privacy and your personal sphere; no matter how much you wanted to convince yourself that it could be pure coincidence that the description matched one of the demented men who was harassing you out of a life, you couldn’t even attempt to deflect the evidence presented to you. So you stayed silent while your friend threw you question after question about this new, mysterious suitor of yours.

“I gotta be honest,” her tone took an annoying pitch, a turn that you couldn’t foresee or forget once your brain registered it. You didn’t know what to expect by this exchange when your friend didn’t have the context of the whole situation. Not that you had any intention to let her know, if that could spare her. All the same, her words started to cut worse than knives, “He was way better than your ex. At least he seemed to have something going on for him!”

You dry heaved at the idea and at the hints, covering the motion and the noise with a sudden fit of coughs that shook your body with violence and tremors. Your muscles strained, and you heard your friend inquire about your well being, a trace of concern in her voice. You recuperated as soon as you could, but your tone was shaky when you talked, “Don’t say that, please.”

It was different from the treatment you reserved your mother earlier, now that your anger melted into meek exhaustion and inconveniencing apprehension. You couldn’t bring yourself to yell or demand, just metaphorically dragging yourself on your knees to beg them to reconsider any idea those first encounters instilled in their heads. Your friend, however, didn’t catch the nuance in your voice as you silently pleaded with her, and simply insisted that he seemed like a nice man, someone perfect for you and your future away from the fatigue of illicit work inside strangers’ houses. Those words sent shivers up and down your spine.

“He isn’t what he seems.” You couldn’t gather the strength to counter further, that statement all your mind could pierce together to argue against the good intentions of that vile person who wanted to slither inside your life. She didn’t let go though, still stubborn that he couldn’t be dangerous, or that bad if you allowed yourself to be looked at in such a plain fashion by him. You gritted your teeth at the answer, at the attitude, at the misplaced irritation and at the frustration building up as you couldn’t scream at the world what you were going through. With a rushed decision, you ended the call as she was still talking, and ignored the subsequent call as you left the phone hit the bed under you.

Your forehead found your hands, and you dragged the palms up and down your face as if to wake yourself up from a long, delirious nightmare of a life. Tomorrow, you would wake up as if it was the day before your first day on the job, and you would walk in hesitantly. You would clean and leave them lunch, but you would come back to find them relaxing in their house, not minding you at all. Ignored and neglected by those dangerous men, only some words exchanged for requests and compliments on your cooking, but nothing more than that. You felt your eyes getting misty at the wishful desire in your heart.

You bit your tongue when your phone ringed again, a quick glance over your shoulder letting you know that it was one of those men calling. You didn’t know if it was Melone, as he was the most recurring culprit of flooding your phone, or someone else, but you really didn’t want to find out. Unluckily, the flashing number on the phone’s display made you remember the horrible idea that hit you a bit earlier: how Prosciutto was, supposedly, on the possible pursuit of your darling, sweet fiance. The dreadful notion poisoned your mind, making it impossible to think of anything else as you tortured yourself with all the possibilities, all the scenarios where your beloved would be threatened, ruined, beaten or worse. All pictures of vivid realism, terrifying in their sharpness, as they drowned your mind, your eyes, your ears.

You felt like you were chocking on your anxiety, and your fingers trembled as you picked up the phone, now still and silent. You weren’t sure what to do, if calling your fiance would be any good, if you would simply hear Prosciutto’s voice greeting you with nonchalance as you heard your fiance pained wails and the crack of a whip, the click of a gun, the barking of dogs, any clue of the immense cruelty that could wreck your spirit just a bit further.

All too much, your mind floating in suspension again, but the vibrating motion of your phone anchored you to reality. Your fiance's number, flashing on the screen, making you cut your breath short. You felt lightheaded as you clicked the key and let the device near your ear, far away enough that the sound was more muffled and softer. You were ready to hear the derisive laugh of Prosciutto, taunting you about how foolish you were for thinking you could save him, but the soothing tone of your fiance reached you. You felt your muscles relax, and they trembled from the constricting tension taking hold of them.

“Thank God,” you couldn’t stop yourself from muttering those words, and your fiance suddenly stopped with what he was about to say, seemingly cautious. He asked if you were safe, if anything happened to let you sigh with relief so casually, and you shook your head before you could really think about the fact he couldn’t see you. You answered with the little voice you could still muster, but you forced yourself to speak more, to reassure him of your safety, “I just had a bad evening, that’s all. I’m happy to hear you.”

The chuckle coming from the other side of the speaker was gentle, yet coated in heavy defeat. He didn’t question anything you said, just making you notice how it was barely an hour, maybe something more, since you two saw each other outside your house. He was calling to let you know he was fine, everything was good, and your spent brain didn’t pick anything odd in his tone, no matter how you tried to activate the paranoid parts of your brain to detect anything suspicious. You were too relaxed, a pounding headache emerging from the tension snapping suddenly, and your body slumped over the pillow on your bed. An hour, he said. You must have been too focused on your misery to notice anything outside, not even your mother knocking to let you know dinner was ready or to ask if you needed the bathroom to shower.

You exchanged few words with your darling, as if nothing in your relationship changed at all, despite all the sorrow you noticed earlier in his gaze. You said your goodbyes, and then you were alone in the solitude of your room. Evening was settling, the sky was tinted in soft hues of spring and warmth, but you couldn’t find in yourself the strength to stand up to live the rest of the evening before bed time. So, you settled on sleeping earlier than usual. Your rest was hollow, as if it didn’t happen at all, and you were left confused the next morning.

Your routine was sluggish, that morning. Your mother was worried, peeking at you from the kitchen each time you attempted to stay alone in the living room or at the table, but you could understand she was concerned about your behavior from the day before. All you could offer, in the fog of your turmoil, was a polite smile directed at her. Barely a plaster over the gaping wound, but you had to think about other things, like how you could face your tormentors during your next visit at the house.

Them as your eyes drifted to the desk and to the headband resting on it, the idea that came to you during your car trip to return home flashed in your mind. Maybe your mistake could be twisted into the right light if you played your cards right, not even as dirty as they were doing. You spent the rest of the week preparing, the only moments of pause you conceded yourself were the short calls with your fiance or your friends, who insisted on complimenting you on the good scion of wealthy origins that was chanting your praises. It would be annoying if the notion of Melone talking to your group of friends didn’t keep you from approaching them anymore. But it fueled the feeling of needing to plant the seed of discord among those men who wanted to tear down your life, just to build over the ruins.

Eventually, the designed day came and you stepped outside your house for the first time in an entire week. You winced when you saw that the broken mirror and the scattered jewelry were still laying on the street, simply shoved to the side so that they wouldn’t cause any trouble to those who were passing. You closed yourself in your car and breathed deeply to regain the lost composure, calm your nerves before your exhibition.

The drive felt slower and shorter at the same time, as if the space and the time separating you from the was distorted in horrible ways, but you reached your destination. Your grip on the wheel was tight, and you were about to give up on the plan now that you could see the towering house looming over you. However, you swallowed the fear, and stepped to the door. There, you straightened yourself up, adjusted Formaggio’s shirt and Ghiaccio’s hair accessories, and then unlocked the entrance. The click of the key was loud, if only because you were hyper aware of everything around you.

Once you were inside, your eyes on the floor, you left your belongings at the usual spot. When you raised your head, Prosciutto was there, leaning on the kitchen’s door with pretend serenity. When he eyed you up and down, you gave him a civil smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and he narrowed his eyes at the motion. He turned around, separating from the wall, and headed up the stairs with visible disdain in his stance. You took a second to calm yourself after this first step, then walked towards the living room to check who was in there.

It seemed like only Formaggio and Illuso decided to hang out in the room, but both of them looked over when they perceived the movements at the door. Both their faces lightened up in a twisted happiness that felt like a punch in the guts, but you stomached it as well as you could. Formaggio raised his hand to wave at you, and you reciprocated the gesture, to his surprise. Then, Illuso motioned to do the same, but you turned your head before he could and went for the stairs. All you could hear behind you were the barks of laughs and the barely concealed murmuring of threats.

You exhaled shakily, and grabbed the rail so that you wouldn’t fall down as you climbed the stairs.

[snowpeawritings]

ATLA aang x reader where she's completely unaware of his feelings towards her and everytime he tries to admit that he likes her, things get in the way, so sokka or toph (or both tbh) tell her that aang likes her scenario? 😅

sort of following this!

Reader us female

CW (CONTENT WARNING): None

“I did what you said-are you sure that she knows?”

“Sure I’m sure! You know how she is, she’s super oblivious!”

“Or maybe…” Katara sighed. “That Sokka doesn’t know how girls work and he’s winging it.”

Sokka glared back at his sister, ready to retort back while Aang sulked down on his sitting rock. “This is hopeless.”

Your awakening a few weeks ago was something Aang would never forget. Seeing the scar where the lightning exited would haunt him forever and the fact that you refused to have Katara heal it (“It’s a cool battle scar!” You exclaimed) just makes his insides churn. 

He was the Avatar for crying out loud; he went into the Avatar State, the most powerful form he can be in, and yet he failed in protecting you.

“In any case!” Sokka yelled, crossing his arms across his chest. “Aang here needs closure right now! And I say we’re the only ones who can bring ‘em together!”

Katara shrugged, letting her teasing smirk fall from her face. “Count me out. I’d rather have Aang do it himself than us having to butt in.”

She then looked over to Aang with a small smile. “Good luck, Aang.”

The young boy gave her a curt nod before she left the room. In that instant, Toph came inside the room, hands behind her head with a bored look on her face.

“So I heard Twinkle-Toes has it rough,” she said, all the while smirking, “what’s the plan?”

The city of Ba Sing Se is a magical place that you could never grasp your head around. Not once did you think that you were able to make it past your home and into the neighboring lands. Sure, you joined Aang and Bumi in Omashu but other than that one place in the Earth Kingdom, you had no knowledge in any other place in the Earth Kingdom.

Of course, you still had to search for Appa but seeing the beautiful park near the inn you were staying in was something to put you at ease. 

Your electrocution still gave you nightmares.

“Have you been to this place Aang?” You questioned the boy, who was fidgeting with the ends of his shawl. The action caused your eyebrow to raise up but decided against questioning Aang. He was probably worried about Appa, right?

“I’m sure Appa will be okay.” You said softly, causing him to look at you with a confused expression. “He’s just as stubborn as Toph so I’m sure that he’ll be fine.”

Aang blinked at your answer before realizing that his face was giving away his troubles. “Oh… that’s not what I was-well, that’s one of the things I’m thinking about.”

Seeing a bench, you dragged Aang to sit down with you. The blossom tree next to you had its petals dance softly around you and Aang. “Wanna talk?”

He sighed. “There’s a lot going on in my mind that I can’t get my thoughts in order. First there’s Appa, then the Fire Nation in Ba Sing Se, then–”

Aang cut himself off before he could delve deeper. Your eyebrows were raised at his sudden clamming up but when you saw him fidget with his hands, you knew immediately it was something far more important. Far more damaging to Aang’s mentality.

“Aang,” you started, “if this is about what happened in the cave, I don’t blame you and I will never blame you.”

“H-Huh?” He said dumbly. “That’s-well, yeah but—”

Before he could even continue his rambling, some shakiness in a nearby bush caught his attention. To his horror, Sokka and Toph were in the bush, the former shaking his head at Aang’s gaze on him while Toph was sitting there like it was normal to hide in a bush.

What in the Spirit World are they doing?!

“Aang?” You asked him. “Something wrong?”

When he realized that he had been gawking at the two for too long, he shook his head and nervously smiled. “Oh, nothing! Just saw a bird.”

“A-Anyway, I have something to say to you.” He finally spat out. “I’ve been keeping this to myself for a long time so I think today’s a better time than any to say this.”

Aang took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the potential rejection. “We’ve known each other for a long time and I felt like we’ve gone through so much.”

His lines were well rehearsed in his head and he had Sokka to thank for that (he can even hear Sokka’s nods of approval without looking). “You mean so much to me and I’m not just saying that because you were with me in that block of ice. You were there for me even when I ran away, even when you knew my future, even when you were going to get hurt because of me.”

His fists tightened against his lap, the image of you taking the bolt still fresh in his mind. “I never wanted to see that happen to you again but—”

“Aang,” you gently interrupted him, “what are you getting at?”

He took in a deep breath, preparing for the worst. “_____, I really li—”

A sharp yelp made the both of you shoot up from your seat. Behind you, a man carrying a basket of cabbages was screaming at a young boy due to stepping on one of his produce.

The sight was humorous but it definitely killed the mood for whatever Aang was about to say. Despite that endeavor, the boy pursued back into your conversation by holding your hand in his. Bold move, Sokka would say, but a welcome move due to the interruption.

“Anyway,” he continued, “w-what I wanted to tell you is that—”

A crash was the next one. You and Aang looked behind you again to see the same cabbage man now screaming at the broken basket with ruined cabbages.

Now it was getting ridiculous.

“What I wanted to say is…!” Aang started before anything else should happen. Like the world was against him having a happy ending, another crash interrupted his confession. Both of you were expecting the cabbage man but to your surprise, it was Sokka and Toph who dogpiled on top of the cabbage man, with Sokka covering the man’s mouth and Toph sitting on his legs.

“_____!” Sokka yelled. “Aang likes you a lot! Like a real real lot!”

“Twinkle-Toes has it bad for you, Airhead!” Toph then followed. “Just cut him some slack!”

The fact that they both yelled in a public park was embarrassing enough, the fact that onlookers were already looking at the spectacle is even more embarrassing. Aang already looked like he was about to die by turning into a fireball with how red his entire face is.

“Well…” You started, hoping to ease Aang’s shame. “Despite the fiasco… you wanna go someplace quiet and continue our talk?”

Your hopeful smile and shy expression made Aang being grateful for the interruptions from both the cabbage man and his friends.

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 17: Rooftop Save

Marinette meets Emilie Agreste. 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30  31

@marichatmay​

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette’s mind was racing as she stood in front of a beautiful middle aged woman clearly visible through the glass of her… life support? Sarcophagus? Who knows. Her eyes lingered on the preserved rose attached to her lapel. Was Emilie Agreste just a pressed flower, preserved against the encroachment of time?

Emilie Agreste. Adrien rarely opened up about her during all the years she had known him. Rarely, she had caught sight of a few pictures, saw her briefly on the movie screen. But she had never met her, never heard her voice. To Marinette, she had just been a ghost that she had known only through Adrien’s fond words.

And yet… Emilie Agreste had been alive all this time. Locked away and hidden beneath the Agreste manor, waiting for the moment Hawkmoth succeeded in his goal to bring her back. But now Hawkmoth had been defeated for good and from what Adrien was saying, she was running out of time. It broke her heart, but she was wary. Now that Adrien was aware of what his father was doing, would he try and continue Hawkmoth’s work?

Adrien was fiddling with the controls to the machine. Despite his lack of understanding, he was moving dexterously and with a purpose. Occasionally he glanced up at his sleeping mother and his expression would become clouded - in regret or anticipation, she didn’t know.

Several minute passes with only the sounds of his tinkering filling the silence before she decided to speak. “Adrien…?” He grunted. “What are you doing?”

He stopped what he was doing to turn back at her in confusion. “I’m waking her up,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She considered not saying anything after that, but decided that getting to the point might be better. “You told me she can’t live for long outside of that thing, right?” He froze and stood there in silence for long heartbeats before going back to pushing buttons again.

In a quiet voice he replied, “I know.”

“What are you going to do when she is awake? We can’t do anything for her.”

“Well, we can, but…” He gave out a long, rattling sigh. “...But helping her would kill someone else. Right?” At her nod, he continued. “So she’ll die. It’ll be like nothing has changed.”

Marinette had been talking with Chat for long enough to know when he was trying to act detached. Despite how calmly he was talking, she could feel the roiling tension beneath the surface. She stepped behind him to wrap her arms around his waist, burying her face into his back.

“I’m so sorry, kitty.” His hands squeezed hers and they stood there unmoving for a few minutes before he began to chuckle. She let go reluctantly to stand at his side, watching him carefully.

He saw her look and coughed awkwardly. “Sorry. It’s just… lately, with the anniversary and everything coming up… I’d been thinking about her more.” He flashed her a sad smile and added, “I had been wishing that she could have met you at least once.” His smile faded and his eyes became downcast again. “I guess I got my wish after all. But at what cost?”

“All we can do now is make the most of it.” She watched him findle with the controls some more. “Do you actually know how to work that?”

“Not exactly. Nooroo told me a little, but the only one who would know for sure is Hawkmoth and… I don’t think he’d approve of this. Besides, I think I’m almost…” There was a hissing sound and flaring lights as the lid covering Emilie started to come off. Utterly entranced with the spectacle, Adrien ended with a whisper, “...Done.”

For a long moment, nothing happened and she continued to lay motionless. Marinette was just about to reach out to Adrien when Emilie’s eyes fluttered. A hand went to her forehead and a pained expression crossed her face as she began to pull herself out. In an instant, Adrien was by her side and helping her out, keeping her steady as she got to her feet.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” came the bright voice, “I seem to be… a little…” Her vibrant green eyes,went from being unfocused to wide and alert as she stared at who was helping her. Her voice was barely above a whisper, panicked and reverent in equal measure, “...Adrien?”

There were tears in eyes that were so like her own as he replied, “It’s me, mom. Its been… so long.” Despite the tears running freely down both of their faces, he smiled. “There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

-------------------------

Emilie, Marinette was learning, is a remarkably adaptable woman. The news of her husband’s transgressions, her own impending death, and being held in stasis for ten years were all taken in stride. Adrien by way of Nooroo had estimated that they would have two hours and it had only taken maybe half an hour to get all of that out of the way.

As they sipped coffee in the dining room, Marinette listened to them talk. It felt like she shouldn’t be here, like she was an intruder on this very personal moment. This was an emotional reunion between mother and son. What right did she have to be there? Maybe she should just-

“I don’t think you’ve introduced us yet, sweetheart.” Emilie turned her full attention on Marinette, resting her chin upon her steepled fingers.

Grinning, Adrien wrapped an arm around Marinette and pulled her closer. “This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng! She is the kindest, bravest, and most talented person I’ve ever met.”

Which began a round of Adrien talking her up, listing all her accomplishments, big and small, while Marinette’s blush steadily threatened to take over her entire face. To her surprise, he even talked about the milestones that had happened while they had been out of touch. Which set to rest the idea that he had ever been avoiding her. Had they really just been idiots for all these years? Once she finally stopped staring dumbstruck at Adrien, she glanced over at Emilie and realized that she was looking right back at her. There was a pleased smile on her face and she gave a quick wink to Marinette before turning her attention back to Adrien’s rambling.

After a few more minutes, Emilie cut in to say, “Sunshine, could you get us a refill from the kitchen, please?”

“Of course!” Adrien disappeared through the large double doors leading to the kitchen.

“He’s grown up to be such a kind young man. I was worried, leaving him with just Gabriel.” She smiled ruefully.

“I think we have you to thank for that, Mrs. Agreste.”

“Heaven knows I tried, but…” She took Marinette’s hand. “...I don’t think he would have made it this far by himself. Whether you know it or not, he’s better because of you.” A few moments passed with that small contact before she pulled away and frowned at the door he disappeared through. “There isn’t anyone left. He’s alone now.”

The polite smile Marinette had been wearing evaporated. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I know.”

“Can you… watch out for him… please?” Emilie put a hand to her temple, brows furrowed.

“Are you alright?” She leapt from her seat when Emilie collapsed off of hers. “Adrien!”

While Marinette was crouched over her, Emilie croaked out, “Please. Promise me, you’ll watch out for him.”

The door flew open as Marinette replied, “He's in good hands. I promise.”

----------------------------

It is strange, how quickly two hours can pass and yet the rest of a day can drag on forever. They’d startled the poor guard watching the Agreste manor half to death, but Adrien had wanted to be sure there was a proper burial this time. He hadn’t wanted his mother to languish in the manor any longer than she had already. They’d gone home and just found ways to avoid talking about what was really on their minds until the sun was down. Then they’d gone to bed, too drained to dream.

Marinette woke up at midnight thanks to a chill coming in from the partially open window. Even if she hadn’t felt his absence in the bed beside her, she would have know he wasn’t there. On the nightstand, the little kwami bed she’d made for the two of them was occupied solely by Tikki, who was peacefully dozing. After putting on her warmest robe, she open the window fully and climbed up the fire escape to the roof of her apartment.

Just as she suspected, he was sitting there, blonde hair gently tousled by the breeze. He was looking out over the city with a distant stare, his mind clearly somewhere else. She saw his cat ears twitch as she sat down beside him and curled up against him. A strong breeze made her shiver and Chat finally reacted, pulling her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. She nestled herself into the crook of his neck as he settled his chin on her head.

“You should’ve stayed inside, Mari.”

“And leave my kitty out in the cold? Never.”

“This kitty is used to the cold.”

“Doesn’t mean that you need to stay out in it.”

There was a long silence following her words before he spoke again.

“I should probably feel bitter or sad or something right now, shouldn’t I?” She didn’t reply, sensing that he needed to talk this out himself. “But the truth is, I did all my mourning already. If anything, I feel… complete now. Like, I have closure, I know what happened to her. She didn’t abandon us. When she…” He swallowed heavily and started again. “When she passed, I was there for her.”

“But…?”

“Now I’m orphan. Sure, Gabriel is alive, but he might as well not be. Hawkmoth is going to jail for a long time - which is good!” He quickly added. “He deserves it for all the people he’s hurt. But I don’t really have any other family. Excluding mom’s…” he took another deep, steadying breath, “...first funeral, I haven’t really seen any of them since I was a kid.”

“Maybe… but that’s what it was like before, right? Gabriel wasn’t exactly father of the year before his reveal.”

He chuckled. “You got me there. But I also wasn’t in the best place then either. I don’t have many friends, and with Alya and Nino out of country so often, I’m alone most of the time.”

She pulled back enough to look him in the eye and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What about me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and she was surprised to see a blush peeking out from underneath his mask. “That’s… I wanted to talk with you about that, actually.”

Fighting down the fluttering butterflies in her stomach, she replied, “...Alright. What is there to talk about?”

“I’m so sorry.” He hunched his shoulders and looked down at the ground. “I… I was too much of a coward to keep our friendship alive after school. I just… I thought…” His cat ears flattened on his head. “...I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again after that rejection.”

“Chat… Adrien… I understand. Confessing at graduation wasn’t my best decision, but I just… it suddenly hit me that it might be the last time I would ever get to see you. I wanted you to know how I felt. How I still feel.”

“So… you forgive me?”

She laughed. “Only if you forgive me for rejecting you as Ladybug.”

“How can I refuse such a sweet deal?” He grinned at her in his usual cocky way, just like his old self again, before the nervousness crept back in. “So… where does that leave us then?”

“Where do you want it to leave us?” She looked into his eyes, watching carefully as she waited for his answer.

“I think,” he took her hand in his and gently rubbed his thumb across the back of it, “I want to stay with you.” His gaze flickered to hers. “If that’s alright with you?”

She leaned in towards his face slowly, hesitating at the last moment before he closed the remaining space between them. They shared a tender kiss in the moonlight. She whispered against his lips as they began to pull away, “Sounds perfect to me.”

[ofthemuses]

True Detective Sentence Meme: Season One (another of my favorites, well, the first season at least.)

WARNING: Triggering content, NSFW content, religion/death/violence/sex/drugs/suicide mentioned. Lots of foul language 

Regular Quotes

I'd consider myself a realist, alright? But in philosophical terms I'm what's called a pessimist...

Oh, just a regular type dude... with a big ass dick.

People out here, it's like they don't even know the outside world exists. Might as well be living on the fucking Moon.

It's all one ghetto man.

Stop saying shit like that. It's unprofessional.

So what's the point of getting out of bed in the morning?

I tell myself I bear witness, but the real answer is that it's obviously my programming. And I lack the constitution for suicide.

Let's make the car a place of silent reflection from now on.

Can I ask you something? You're a Christian, yeah?

I know who I am. And after all these years, there's a victory in that.

Can you get pills pretty easy?

Listen, when you're at my house, I want you to chill the fuck out.

There's nothing I can do about it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but... I'm gonna have a drink.

Given how long its taken for me to reconcile my nature, I can't figure I'd forgo it on your account.

Hmm. That sounds God-fucking-awful.

Isn't that a beautiful way to go out, painlessly as a happy child?

Trouble with dying later is you've already grown up. The damage is done. It's too late.

I can be hard to live with. I don't mean to, but I can be... critical.

Sometimes I think I'm just not good for people, that it's not good for them to be around me. 

Such holy bullshit from you. It's a woman's body, ain't it? A woman's choice.

Girls walk this Earth all the time screwin' for free. Why is it you add business to the mix and boys like you can't stand the thought? I'll tell you. It's cause suddenly you don't own it the way you thought you did.

Is shitting on any moment of decency part of your job description?

Nothing man, sorry, forget it.

You got some self loathing to do this morning, that's fine, but it ain't worth losing your hands over.

What's your deal?

I don't have "a deal".

You're kinda strange, like you might be dangerous.

Of course I'm dangerous. I'm police. I can do terrible things to people with impunity.

Now what do you mean exactly... these visions you mentioned.

Shiiiiit, just what have you two heard about me?

What the hell good is cake if you can't eat it?

You know, throughout history, I bet every old man probably said the same thing. And old men die, and the world keeps spinnin'.

What do you think the average IQ of this group is, huh?

Just observation and deduction. I see a propensity for obesity. Poverty. A yen for fairy tales.

I think it's safe to say nobody here's gonna be splitting the atom.

You see that. Your fucking attitude. 

 Not everybody wants to sit alone in an empty room beating off to murder manuals.

Yeah, well if the common good's gotta make up fairy tales, then it's not good for anybody.

Well, I don't use ten dollar words as much as you, but for a guy who sees no point in existence, you sure fret about it an awful lot.

I mean, can you imagine if people didn't believe, what things they'd get up to?

Exact same thing they do now. Just out in the open.

Bullshit. It'd be a fucking freak show of murder and debauchery and you know it.

If the only thing keeping a person decent is the expectation of divine reward, then brother that person is a piece of shit; and I'd like to get as many of them out in the open as possible.

Well, I guess your judgment is infallible, piece-of-shit-wise.

You figure it's all a scam, huh? All them folks? They just wrong?

People incapable of guilt usually do have a good time.

Do you wonder ever if you're a bad man?

World needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door.

But I think I'm all fucked up.

You don't have to fall in love at first sight, you know.

Every time I think you've hit a ceiling, you, you keep raising the bar. You're like the Michael Jordan of being a son of a bitch.

Fuuuck! Hell of a bedside manner you've got.

Ahh, you know, being stupid is different than going in sick, and this is a bar, not a fuckin' bedside.

All the dick swagger you roll, you can't spot crazy pussy?

So, enough with the self-improvement-penance-hand-wringing shit. Let's go to work.

Oh God damn it, I am so done talking to you like a man.

What the fuck you think I want with you, huh?

I'm sorry. What are you suggesting, exactly?

I will skull-fuck you, you bitch!

This is none of my business... I don't want to hear it.

Do you know the good years when you're in them, or do you just wait for them until you get ass cancer?

What always happens between men and women? Reality.

Someone once told me time is a flat circle.

The newspapers are gonna be tough on you.

No, buddy, without me... there is no you.

Yeah. Fuck this. Fuck this world.

You know, people that give me advice, I reckon they're talking to themselves.

A man's game charges a man's price. Take that away from this, if nothing else.

I'm the person least in the need of counseling in this entire fucking state.

Thought maybe we should talk.

If you get the opportunity, you should kill yourself.

Hey, man, look. Why don't you just get out of here, please? I don't want to get arrested. Just - just get... before I do something to you.

I slept with someone... And you know him/her... You're close.

Oh... Now, what-what are you saying?... What - what are you - what the fuck are you saying to me?

Life's barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at.

If you were drowning, I'd throw you a fuckin' barbell.

Why would I ever help you?

Hey. You better get those jumper cables ready, the motherfucker is lying.

Get on out of here, you're classin' the place up.

My family's been here a long, long time.

He ain't gonna talk with you.

I got a car battery and two jumper cables argue different.

A man remembers his debts.

Fuck, I don't like this place... Nothing grows in the right direction.

What happened in my head is not something that gets better.

Well you know what, I just got here; I was gonna leave, but then you woke up - Jesus, what's your fuckin' problem?

Not a care in the world.

I'm not supposed to be here.

Yeah... well, I'll come back by tomorrow, buddy.

Don't ever change, man.

Agh. Ah, fuck. Ah, he got me pretty good...

Do I strike you as a talker or a doer?

You'll rip out your fucking stitches. Stop it.

This is the place.

Everybody's got a choice, ____... Shit, I sure blamed you.

There you go... Everybody's got a choice.

It's hard to find something in a man who rejects people as much as you do, you know that?

Come die with me, little priest.

The DEEP SHIT™

I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution.

There can be a burden in authority, in vigilance, like a father's burden.

I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction - one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal. 

This place is like somebody's memory of a town, and the memory is fading.

I contemplate the moment in the garden; the idea of allowing your own crucifixion.

I don't sleep, I just dream. 

You got kids? I think of the hubris it must take, to yank a sole out of nonexistence into this meat; a force of life into this thresher.

I know who I am. And after all these years, there's a victory in that.

Yeah, back then, the visions, yeah most of the time I was convinced... Shit... I'd lost it. But there were other times... I thought I was mainlining the secret truth of the universe.

I mean, it's like somethin's got your name on it, like a bullet or a nail in the road...

People... so goddamn frail they'd rather put a coin in the wishing well than buy dinner.

This... This is what I'm talking about. This is what I mean when I'm talkin' about time, and death, and futility.

They welcomed it... not at first, but... right there in the last instant. It's an unmistakable relief. See, cause they were afraid, and now they saw for the very first time how easy it was to just... let go.

All your life--you know, all your love, all your hate, all your memories, all your pain--it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room, a dream about being a person.

And like a lot of dreams, there's a monster at the end of it.

You see, we all got what I call a life trap - a gene deep certainty that things will be different...

Nothing's ever fulfilled, not until the very end. And closure - nothing is ever over.

I have seen the finale of thousands of lives, man. Young, old, each one so sure of their realness. You know that their sensory experience constituted a unique individual with purpose and meaning. So certain that they were more than biological puppet. The truth wills out, and everybody sees. Once the strings are cut, all fall down.

In eternity, where there is no time, nothing can grow. Nothing can become. Nothing changes. So Death created time to grow the things that it would kill.

And you are reborn, but into the same life that you've always been born into. I mean, how many times have we had this conversation? Well, who knows?

When you can't remember your lives, you can't change your lives, and that is the terrible and the secret fate of all life. You're trapped by that nightmare you keep waking up into.

I can see your soul at the edges of your eyes. It's corrosive, like acid. 

Sometimes... this feeling like life has slipped through your fingers... like the future is behind you, like it's always been behind you.

There's a shadow on you, son.

I saw you in my dream. You're in Carcosa now with me... He sees you... You'll do this again... Time is a flat circle.

There's no such thing as forgiveness. People just have short memories.

All my life I wanted to be nearer to God. But the only nearness - silence.

Some people, no matter where they look, they see themselves.

You see, sometimes people... mistake a child as an answer for something, you know, like a way to change their story.

Look, as sentient meat, however illusory our identities are, we craft those identities by making value judgments: everybody judges, all the time. Now, you got a problem with that... You're livin' wrong.

Once there was only dark. If you ask me, the light's winning.

[pizzamaximoff]

The Sketch Artist’s Obsession (Jerome Valeska x Artist! Reader)

Here’s a request for @avengers-and-jedis , I’m so sorry its late I've been bogged down with a bunch of school work and assessments AND Inktober. Again I’m so sorry I didn't get it done earlier but damn I’m tired af. I’ve had to change up a little of the canon storyline just to do this how I wanted to. Just adding in some lil bits to add to the case to fit in with the reader being an artist. BTW they sent me some hella good art of Jerome and it kinda inspired parts of this.

Word count: 2,701

Working in the Gotham City Police department had its ups and downs. Sure it was dark and generally solum with petty criminals being filed in everyday and new cases being raised and brought to attention. That was something Gotham was never short of: crime. Yet with all the misery brought in you can’t help but find it thrilling, even though you were the lead sketch artist you still end up working with the main department, often being present for various interrogations.

It was a a cold day when you first met Jerome Valeska. A light snow covered the city but the office was warm with life, yet it wasn’t a reassuring warmth. More like that of raging fire. Full of anger. Making your way from the break room to your quaint little office you stopped in your track in shock at your surroundings. The department was heaving: an entire circus was literally brought in, their brightly coloured costumes contrasting against the dark office area. Your mouth was slightly ajar, shocked at the odd scene you were witnessing. Detectives and officers kept two groups of the circus workers apart. One clearly being clowns, their makeup heavy and costumes absurd. Judging from the tight spandex of the other groups you made an educated guess that they were acrobats. It was obvious their was some form of family feud going on here. The absurdity of the whole situation made you laugh quietly to yourself. You were about to move to your tiny office when you heard your name being called out amongst the babble of angry performers. You turned to see Detective Gordon waving you over, his face dark and brooding as usual. You weaved in an out of the various people clogging up the department to reach him, letting out a sigh once you emerged from the mass. 

“What is it Jim?” You asked. He smiled lightly at you, the dark mood in his features lifting for a moment. You had always been the department baby, being the youngest there, he had a soft spot for you. “Just as a precaution, I might need you, the victim’s son said he saw a strange individual around the circus but has no idea who he is. An outsider” He spoke giving you a small pat on the shoulder before leading you into the small office. You rolled your eyes at this, instantly certain that your witness wouldn't be able to give you much to go on. It wouldn't be the first time. Placing your work sketchbook and pencil set on the desk you took a seat next to Jim. Looking up you finally noticed the boy in the room. His fiery red hair was parted and swept to the side neatly. Slight sniffles, the lasting remnants of tears, shook his body in every few moments. Your initial distaste was dropped in an instant as sympathy for the boy filled you. He wasn't much younger than you by the looks of it and you instantly felt terrible for him, if you were in his position you wouldn't be much different. “Hi Jerome, we just need to ask you a few questions to help us find out whoever murdered your mother” Jim spoke sincerely with a gentle but forced smile on his face. Jerome, as you now learnt, looked up from the desk. His sea green eyes were glazed over with tears threatening to spill, his nose and cheeks were a soft pink making him look delicate and vulnerable as ever. He quickly wiped his eyes before muttering a quiet ‘sure’. You couldn't help the small endearing smile     you sent him as he glanced over to you. His lips twitching ever so slightly in a shy manner.   Jim began to ask him questions and Jerome answered, clear and precisely. You listened intently but as you did so you were unequivocally aware of how pretty he was. Even in this state he was rather gorgeous. You managed to keep these views hidden, for your face was stoic. However it was when Jim asked him of his opinion on his mothers ‘love life’ you cracked. “Sex is a perfectly healthy and normal human activity, Detective” Usually you would be perfectly fine with this statement but with the lingering gaze he gave you and the faintest hint of a smirk you lost it. Your usually composed face was tinged with pink as you coughed lightly and fidgeted with the papers on the desk. As for Jim his eyes slightly widened before moving swiftly along. He asked of the unknown man and if Jerome had seen him before and where. This was your turn to step in. “As you said you got a clear view of this strange character, I’ll leave you with my colleague here to draw up a sketch of the man. With that it should be much easier to identify the suspects.” With a nod to you Jim exited the room leaving you and Jerome alone. You held your hand out to him with a smile. “Hi, I’m (Y/N), lead sketch artist at the precinct.” He softly held onto your hand and gave it a small shake. It was surprisingly warm, contrasting with the cold office. “We’re going to start with a general shape of the man and then move into the features. I’m going to need you to be as specific and with as much detail as possible so we can get the most accurate depiction, Is that okay?” You spoke as you opened the book to a fresh page, setting out your pencils. “That sounds good to me” He spoke, his voice seemed much more confident than before but you brushed it off as nothing, ready to begin the work.

Around half an hour later you were finished, the process being surprisingly easy and quick due to Jerome’s immense level of description of the man. You looked over the sketch, something about it seemed familiar but you couldn't place your finger on it. You passed the book to Jerome asking if it was correct. He let out a small noise of surprise before speaking. “Wow, that’s him, you managed to get it perfect…” He trailed up looking at you with awe. It was a heartwarming sight and you smiled brightly in response. You simply looked at each other for a moment, it was strange but comfortable yet it ended as soon as it began. You shook your head slightly and stood. He passed the book to you gently as you spoke quietly. “I’m going to hand this to the detectives, hopefully they can catch the guy who did this.” He looked down again sadness seemingly washing over him again. You reached the door and as you were about to leave you stopped abruptly before turning to face him over your shoulder. “Oh and Jerome,” He looked up quickly, eager to hear what you had to say,” If you ever want to talk, my office is the fourth on the left. Feel free to drop in anytime, don’t bother knocking I would love to chat sometime” And with one last smile shared between the pair of you, you left.

You waited for Jim and Leslie to finish their conversation with a blind elderly gentlemen before walking to them, sketchbook in hand. Exchanging a quick greeting to Leslie you turned to Jim presenting the page of the potential suspect. “Jerome says this is what the unidentified man at the circus looked like. I feel like I recognise him but I can’t pinpoint it” You explain to him, it takes him a few seconds before his eyes widen and shock registers on his face. He jogs to a computer, yourself and Lee following confused and intrigued. He delves into some files and soon after a newspaper scanning is brought onto the screen. A missing person of interest. Deacon Blackfire, for suspicion of leading the infamous Hellfire club. You gasped shocked at the sight. “Do you think he killed Lila?” Lee questioned excitement at the revelation in her voice. Jim shook his head, skeptical. “No, it doesn't make sense, Blackfire hasn't been seen in a decade. Its highly unlikely he comes back just to kill a snake dancer-“ You cut him off speaking yourself. “I’m not sure Jim, Jerome was certain it was him. Blackfire has a memorable face, theres not many psychos like him. You’ve got to at least take a look into this, Jerome lost his mother at least give him closure” Jim sighed, you  He was clearly unsure but with you and Lee both pestering him he promised to research into it the next day.

That night, you went home content. Hopeful in the crime being on its way to being solved. After entering your apartment and changing into something comfortable, you boiled the kettle and made a cup of chamomile. Popping the mug on the side table you then not-so-gracefully threw yourself into your armchair, pulling the throw over yourself. You reached for your personal sketchbook ready to express your emotions on the pages. Sharpened pencil in hand you began to draw, built up stresses leaving your body as the graphite dragged on the page. Clowns, acrobats and various characters danced around the edges of the page, you weren't concentrating on the specific subject of your drawings, just eager to create. Once the pages had been filled you placed the book on your lap content with your work. As you looked you halted, there in the centre of the many doodles was a sketch of Jerome. Your palm met your face and a hopeless sigh left your mouth. How did you not even realise you were drawing him? You had been with him for maximum an hour yet he he was forever in your book as a drawing. It came naturally to you, maybe it was his pretty face or gentle sweet nature that was hiding something beneath. Oh wouldn't you like to know what was lurking behind the piercing green eyes. You closed the book and placed it back on the side table. After finishing your tea you prepared for bed for it was late and you were already exhausted. You began to drifted into the realm of sleep, just before you passed over you could distantly hear the buzzing of your phone. Someone was calling you but you ignored it already too far gone. Whatever it was could wait till tomorrow.

You rushed into the precinct a hot mess. Hair was messy and clothes thrown together rather unprofessionally. You had slept in: kept in a blissful dream with a certain ginger. You stuck to the walls, not too keen on being scolded by Captain Essen for being late. You passed Harvey who gave you a quick look over before grinning. “Damn Kid, you look like you just came back from the dead. What happened?” Well at least someone was finding this funny. You rolled your eyes and gave a gruff response. “Slept in” before pushing past, deperately trying to ignore his loud laughter. You loved Harvey, he was a great guy, but damn was he annoying. You walked into your office and not paying attention to your office you walked straight into Jim. You apologised quickly and walked to the desk, not bothering to ask why he was in here. “We solved the case.” He spoke, you pricked up at this, however the dark expression on his face caused your stomach to churn. Did something bad happen, was Jerome hurt? “It wasn't Blackfire who killed Lila Valeska.” He walled towards you a brown case file in hand. Your head tilted in confusion. If not Blackfire than who? They had managed to solve it in the night so it can't have been too obscure a suspect. “It was Jerome.” With that he chucked the file on your desk. The mugshot spilling out. With shaking hands you lifted the photo, gasping in horror and shock. A manic smile twisted his features, this was not the same boy you met in that dark office. You look up at Jim, eyes wide. He held no emotion in his as he continued speaking. “He’s been sent to Arkham, the boy’s insane.” With no more words he left. Leaving you in your shock as you continued to stare at the photo in hand.

Months passed but you still thought of him. You knew it was wrong: he was criminally insane, the boy committed matricide! Yet the attraction never left. He found his way into pages upon pages of your books, getting to the point where you were drawing him at work and hiding from your colleagues. ‘It’s harmless’ you would tell yourself, just a school girl crush. He was locked away so its not like it would blossom into anything. A slightly odd obsession, yes but it would cause no issue. This was the case until you were all called into the main area of the department. A breakout in Arkham, a group of so called ‘Maniax’ were formed, causing chaos in Gotham. There he was. That insane grin, the shocking eyes and fire like hair. Jerome was out of Arkham. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Slipping away from the gathering of workers. Your breathing had quickened. Both fear and excitement coursing through your veins. He was out. You knew he was dangerous, yet the ‘love’ grew inside you.

Gunshots, screams, yells of agony and insane laughter. You hid under your desk shaking like an autumnal leaf. The precinct was being massacred. There was nothing you could do to protect yourself, your job didn't permit you to carry a weapon nor have you ever needed one. The best chance you had of survival was under the dark oak of the desk. Luckily it covered all view of you from the door, but it was an obvious hiding place. Your heart was thumping in your ears and breath shallow.  The door slammed open, almost being knocked straight off it’s hinges. Footsteps entered and the door was slammed shut again. Contrary to before your heart seemed to stop as the voice filled your mind. “(Y/N)! I’m back, you did say not to knock!” It was Jerome, his voice dipping with the confidence that you had only imagined you heard before. So that was the real him. “Although you might have to pay for that, does the insurance cover it?” a sickening cake bounced of the walls. It was deranged but in no way did you hate it. You were simply too shocked to respond, frozen in your state of disbelief. His steps got closer, the thin wood of the desk being the only thing separating you from his sight and him from yours. The sound of paper and pages being turned, were all to be heard. He was silent, absorbed in the work. “Well it seems like I have quite the admirer” he chuckled, it was low and raspy, incredibly attractive. A blush filled your face as you began to feel faint. Still without reply he continued.  “You”re as good as I remember, although I did prefer your pretty face to your amazing skills” His voice got closer; he was walking around the desk. His legs came into view. “I have to say (Y/N), this conversation is feeling rather one-sided,” he down to your level, his green eyes met your own (e/c) ones. “And I do remember you stating you’d love to chat.” That manic grin stretched onto his pale skin, which was stained with blood, you were unsure if it was his or another’s. At that moment you didn't care, a bright smile made its way onto your face. Shock flashed in his eyes for a short second. You spoke up for the first time. “I missed you, Jerome”. “Well Princess let’s get out of here” Pulling you out from the hiding spot he laughed again and you count help but join in with him. Deep in your head there was a voice, nagging at you to run, to stop this madness and ignore this obsession, but it was too late. You were already in the grasp of Jerome Valeska.

Sorry if its crap I'm having a shit life atm guys but I’ll try to post more often!!

[fitzpirations]

Spoiler Alert

Feel the need to share this well-written recap of this Gillian Flynn miniseries. I’ve been watching it with my mother the past few nights, and tonight we watched the last three episodes. Usually we watch one and go it can’t end like that and get through part of another before she falls asleep, and we have to pack it up. 

Tonight we were riveted. And, in general, we hate the show. It’s awful. It’s full of whimsy artistic shots and loud music and we watch it with the subtitles because our television is cheap and everyone seems to be whispering. But it’s also so great and keeps pulling you in and we couldn’t look away. Except for a self-harm scene, I looked away for that. It’s necessary for the story but Too. Real. 

There’s plenty I didn’t like about the experience. I thought the small town setting was, like always, convenient. I thought Camille’s scars are like Michael Scofield’s tattoos in prisonbreak, just a bit too neat, right? How did she get the words on her back my mom murmured in disbelief. A mirror, probably. I’m not saying someone couldn’t do that to themselves. It’s just a lot. Certain characters were so subdued or in-your-face that they annoyed the crap out of me. Amma is this pouty innocent girl at the home and a ballsy, rude partying teenager outside. She’s clingy to her sister but also nasty to her. Adora’s entire being irritated me every episode, the soft way she spoke, her context-less escalations of conversations with Camille, not wanting any part of her story or anything. Alan is practically furniture and his character gives the least amount of anything. But in the end, they tick me off and it’s on purpose, it’s real and it’s great writing. 

As Bastién highlights, Alan and the chief are violently complicit, and no one in town every says what they mean. Flynn gives us so much, and in researching the finale more, and watching the end credits for closure- my mother and I completely missed a telling reveal of the murders and I excitedly told her while she brushed her teeth and told me to be quiet because it’s 1 am- I came across some quotes from the book in the comments. Now my experience with Flynn is brief, I’ve seen her name around and lamented the spelling, and I’ve seen Gone Girl. The prose, from the small snippet I saw, is great. Finishing Sharp Objects, I’m reminded why I never read Flynn’s work, and that she is the same person who wrote Gone Girl. 

The review above sums up all the major plot points well, and touches on Richard’s role in the end. I think Chris Messina’s acting in the last episode was probably the highlight of his work the whole show, from the look of knowing something at the door of the house, to his kindness and instant recoil at Adams’s Camille upon seeing her scars, to his simple, but weighty “I’m sorry” in the hospital. It goes without saying Amy Adams was robbed of every acting award for this as well. It’s foolish to wish they characters could find some peace within each other, and the show doesn’t offer that. Apparently the book doesn’t give that final scene at the hospital, just that we never hear from him again. Camille tries to hurt herself again, Amma goes to jail, it ends with a reflection of parenting and poison. 

I don’t know. It was very effective television, even when it had its issues. Wikipedia tells me the director fought with half the crew about his imagery and forced him to used the dialogue in the script- a good choice. There’s a lot we don’t get, Camille’s full story in the woods, her upbringing with her fake sick sister, a happy ending, a sense of solace. I like that we don’t learn everything, we have to assume, listen to the mentally ill Camille who either brushes off the idea of her trauma, staunchly tells one abuser she’s moved on, or seems to say “yeah, sure, that was me.” We learn how crazy she was in Wind Gap, all the things the townspeople think of her, when she left the town, except we don’t. We just hear that people are talking. And that’s all they ever do- but as Detective Willis says, if the things people say are half-true, it’s a problem. 

Overall I’m conflicted. I think generally I’m pleased a piece of art can illicit such a strong response out of both me and my mother, as she often writes off these shows in the end. But we were both impacted. I do think all the spider imagery and the constant flashing of Marian in the mirrors and the rehab roommate’s bloody face were a bit too much. But that’s just it, I guess. It’s stifling in Wind Gap. Camille is suffocating. This ending episode especially, where we see Amma approach the door of the house, only to be stopped, the girls sluggish and drugged... it seems all but impossible to get out. Later we learn Amma is the killer, and that she had no incentive to leave her cushy house where her mother and father help her ignore her crimes, because certainly they knew. A youtube comment pointed this out well, about the dollhouse and about how Adora seems to declare she’s glad Amma is off the hook at dinner. It’s all insane. Camille and John Keene hooking up was meaningful but also wild. Yet in the environment the women live in, there is nothing but lashing out, and subduing things with drugs and alcohol, ignoring the obvious, subverting. 

Nothing actually matters in the town. The twisted “Calhoun Day” is a tale of violation and Confederate loyalty, yet the town relishes in it. The roller-blading trio are always out past curfew drunk and high, and vulnerable to the killer out there. Yet of course they are the killers, but that doesn't seem to matter. Alan and Adora don’t sleep in the same room but it’s all the same on the outside. Camille and the detective never go on a real date, but to everyone in town they’re practically married. To his credit, he tries very hard to understand it all- his is my favorite perspective of the series because he acts as the audience's viewpoint the most. He’s the outsider looking in, baffled. I don’t think everything is perfect, but Flynn is telling us this is real. You can’t look away. It’s gritty. It’s gruesome. People cut themselves and kill each other and dope themselves and let others poison them and run trains on each other in the woods and we can’t dispute it. This stuff happens, and there isn’t always resolve. One would hope Camille’s article, which is achingly, beautifully written touches someone caught in the mothering cycle she is. Needless to say, after watching this show, I’m happy to turn to my chaotic, sheltered version of 2020, and think thank God I don’t live in the South. 

[pengychan]

Te Rerenga Wairua - Ch. 18

Title: Te Rerenga Wairua Summary: Found by the gods drifting at sea, Maui always assumed he had been thrown in it to drown. When that assumption is challenged, there is only one way to find closure: speaking to his long-departed family. But it’s never a smooth sail to the Underworld, and he’ll need help from a friend - plus a token that fell in the claws of an old enemy long ago. Characters: Maui, Moana, Tamatoa Rating: K Prologue and links to all chapters up so far here.

A/N: Well, this chapter got long. But I couldn’t find a good place to split it, so here’s the whole thing - I guess it makes up for the epilogue, since it will be rather short!

***

Taranga had known something was wrong from the very start, when the pain had struck - sudden, agonizing, and all too soon.

She’d brought five children into the world already, four sons and a daughter, and she had come to known the pain of the delivery all too well. But her children had been healthy, all of them born at the ninth month. This time, the pain had come at the beginning of the seventh. It was far too early; from the instant the midwife had come into her home, after her children were ushered outside to play before they could realize anything was wrong, her grim expression had told her as much.

“My baby,” she’d managed to plead, but the woman had shaken her head.

“You have five little ones already, and you can have others. It is you I need to save,” she had said, and save her she did. The pain had ended, but she’d hardly taken notice. All she could do was staring a at the unmoving child, listen to the deafening silence that was never broken by a single wail. The midwife had tried to revive him, but of course it had been for naught. You cannot revive a stillborn. Only the gods can, and the gods were not answering to her prayers.

“Don’t take him away,” was all Taranga said after a long time, causing the woman to pause.

“He should be buried, dear.”

“I’ll do it by my own hand. I need some time with him. Please.”

She nodded, and placed down the child. She’d cleaned him, wrapped in a blanket. It had been the baby blanket of all of Taranga’s children, from Mua down to Roto, and now it was a shroud. The thought should have pained her, but instead it left her cold, as though she was someplace beyond pain. Even physically, she hardly felt any; nothing compared to previous childbirths, because the baby she’d delivered was so much tinier.

“I’ll have someone look after your children for a while longer. Do you wish us to tell them…?”

“Please,” Taranga said, closing her eyes. She didn’t think she would be able to hold it together if she had to tell the children that the baby brother - or sister, Hina always said pointedly to her brothers’ amusement - they’d all be waiting for had arrived too early, and was now gone before his time even started. Taha would probably try to keep a stiff upper lip, the little warrior, but Pae would certainly burst crying, and before long they all would be sobbing. She couldn’t bear to listen to their crying now: it would only remind her of the wails she should have heard that day, and never would.  

I’ll have to tell Ira-Whaki, when he returns.

Thinking of her husband was even worse. Big, strong and a boy at heart, he’d been even more delighted than any of his children to know he was to be a father again. He’d laughed, gifted her a golden hairpin he’d fashioned with his own hands, and left for a voyage with a smile as wide as the horizon, promising he would be back on time to welcome his newest child into the world.

But that child had arrived too early, and his father would return too late.

We didn’t even get to give him a name.

Somehow, it was that thought that got her to finally sit up, and take the still body of her child in her arms. For a moment she stared down at him, hoping against hope to see him moving, to hear him sucking in a breath and wail, but of course none of it happened. Her youngest son never breathed, and he would never have a name. There would be no point to it now; what good is a name if no one ever calls you by it?

Voices outside her home snapped her from her thoughts, causing her to look up. She could hear the voices of children and, higher than them all, Hina’s protests that she hadn’t lost her bracelet of glass beads at the beach, that someone must have stolen it. She was still unaware that she had lost more than a bracelet that day, but soon she and her brothers would be told, and Taranga didn’t want to be there when it happened: she wouldn’t be able to give them any comfort. Not before she got a chance to mourn, not before her child was buried at sea as it was custom, so that his soul could find its way to the Underworld. Then, perhaps, she could be there for her living children without shattering.

So Taranga stood, kissed her stillborn son once, and went alone to do what had to be done. It would be only much later, while running a hand through what remained of her hair, that she’d realize she had forgotten the golden hairpin her husband had gifted her in the sand. She found she couldn’t bring herself to care; it was but a reminder of the child she had lost, and she had no use for it.

For the rest of her life - which would be long and overall happy, with five children to watch grow into adulthood and more grandchildren than she could look after on her own - she’d keep her hair shorn. And, for much of her existence after death, she would look for her lost boy across the Underworld.

She never found him, but never truly stopped trying.

***

“Look at the claws! Hey, can you uproot trees with these?”

“What kind of question is that? Sure I can. Several at once.”

“This is sooo cool!”

“Of course it is. Everything about me is– hey! Keep your hands out of my eye, will you? And quit yanking my antennae! Have human kids always been this nosy?”

“Is this real gold?”

“When did you climb– well, of course it is! No cheap knockoffs on my shell. Wait, are you trying to bite it? What’s wrong with you, kid?”

“Just checking it’s real gold!”

“I told you it is. Keep your teeth off my stuff!”

“Oh! Oh! I have a question! Why are you so big?”

“I eat a lot.”

“A lot of what?”

“Curious human kids with curly hair and a missing front tooth.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Me neither!”

“You’re totally bluffing!”

“Moana said you wouldn’t raise a pincer on us!”

“Oh, did she? Great. There goes my reputation.”

“What reputation? I never heard of you before. Only of Maui.”

“… Don’t push your luck, kid. There’s a lot of stuff you never heard– what have you got there?”

“A pearl! I found it this morning! Do you want it?”

“What?”

“Moana said you like these things.”

“… What’s the catch?”

“Huh?”

“What, you’re just giving it out for free like– oh! Oh. That’s a present, right? Of course it is. Who wouldn’t want to give me presents?”

“Do you like it?”

“Well, it’s not a bad find for a beginner. Give it here.”

“Can put it up on your shell?”

“If you insist–”

“Hey! You’re missing a leg! Why are you missing a leg?”

“A megalodon ate it.”

“Cool!”

“I didn’t think it was cool at a–”

“How did that go?”

“How big is a megalodon?”

“Is it bigger than a wale?”

“Is it bigger than you?”

“Is it bigger or smaller than–”

The rest of the sentence was covered by Maui’s chuckle. “Well, who’d have guessed? They hit it off right away,” he muttered before taking another bite out of the coconut. He seemed to have absolutely no trouble chewing the entire thing, shell and all, which had fascinated all  the children in the village the first time they’d met - but now their attention was entirely taken by the talking, giant crab monster currently sprawled on the sand. Maui didn’t seem to mind at all, and was observing the scene from some distance away. “Then again, he’s got their undivided attention. Of course he loves that.”

Moana supposed that the introduction had gone as well as they could have possibly hoped. A couple of people had dropped unconscious when he’d first come out of the water, but that had been about it. Her people had trusted her word enough not to panic and Tamatoa, to be fair, had done his best to look as nonthreatening as possible by immediately resting down on the sand. He still towered over everyone, obviously enough, but she supposed it was the thought that counted.

The kids were not supposed to be part of the picture at all, and their parents had all told them to stay behind in the village, but of course that had stopped precisely none of them. That had caused some concern from the adults when they’d suddenly appeared to check out the novelty - more than a few were still eyeing Tamatoa’s claws worriedly - but, overall, they seemed to be coming to terms with his presence quickly enough. Not quite as quickly as their children, but still pretty fast all things considered.

“It went pretty well,” Moana conceded, with no small amount of relief.

Beside her, her mother frowned slightly. “What does he eat?” she asked, causing Maui to shrug.

“Fish, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Oh, and a bit of this and a bit of that. He’s kind of a scavenger, not really picky. No need to worry about that - he’s pretty good at catching his own food.”

Tui gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. We usually offer food to any guests, but… well,” he said, gesturing towards Tamatoa. “He probably eats more than all of us.”

Moana shrugged. “Don’t worry about that. If you want to get him anything, just pick something shiny. You can’t go wrong with–”

“All right, all right, just be quiet a moment!” Tamatoa’s voice cut her off. “If you shut up I’ll tell you just what happened - in song form!”

Oh. Oh no.

“Nope. I’m not listening to this one,” Maui declared, and stood, reaching for his hook. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been great to see you all again, but Moana and I have some sudden, urgent business on the other side of the island. Be back later. Enjoy the show for us, okay? And even if you don’t, for Tagaloa’s sake, tell him you loved it.”

“Wha–” Moana’s father began, but he had no time to say anything more before Maui shifted into his hawk form, grabbed Moana, and flew off quick as lighting.

As much as she disliked flying, Moana had absolutely no complaints this time.

***

“Do you think it’s safe to go back? He can’t be still singing, can he?”

“He could very well be, and you know it. By the way, are you ever gonna stop following us?”

Stretched out in the low waters, the setting sun making his scales look an even deeper red than usual, Pilifeai shrugged. ��Well, I don’t have much else to do. Lalotai gets rather dull after a thousand years or two.”

“So what, you just decided you’re going to hang around? Last time you decided to bother humans–”

With a sigh, the giant lizard rolled on his back. He seemed to be enjoying the last rays of sun immensely. “Yes, yes. They had their ancestors chase me all the way back to Lalotai because I apparently wasn’t such a great neighbour.”

Maui raised an eyebrow. “Apparently?” he repeated. “You ate all of the fish and refused to scram when asked to.”

“Oh, was I asked to leave now? And here I thought they tried to skewer me with pathetic little spears. And it’s not like the fish in the sea belonged to them,” Pilifeai pointed out, but sighed at Maui’s glare. “I know, I know. I won’t cause problems this time around. I’m not looking forward to get my tail kicked by the dead again. Or a demigod with a horrible temper, or a human who happens to be able to shrink me at will, or a giant idiot crab who apparently decided the tiny humans are his pets from now on.”

Moana let out a small laugh, finally sitting up on the sand. “It looks more like they decided he’s their giant pet from now on.”

“To anybody but the idiot crab, yes. Let him keep the delusion.”

“Fair enough,” Maui said, only to frown when a cloud suddenly passed in front of the setting sun. It was beautiful to see - the cloud itself looked like it was aflame, the shades of orange starting to give in to the growing darkness of the evening - but it was a reminder than they’d been there for several hours. He sighed, and stood. “Well, maybe it’s time to get back. He’ll have probably stopped singing by now. Should we take the risk?”

Moana nodded and opened her mouth to agree, but words died in her throat the moment the her gaze fell on the sea. Without the rays of the sun making its surface shimmer, the ocean looked darker - and thus it was easy to spot something moving towards the shore, something that shone of an otherworldly light, leaving a trail in its wake. Moana knew what it was, because she’d seen it before, and she knew why it was there.

“Moana? Hello? I said, should we take the ri–” Maui began, only to trail off with a yelp when Moana wordlessly grabbed him by the ear and made him turn towards the ocean. “Ow! What was that abo–” he began, but then he turned his gaze to the sea, and his voice faded into silence. “Ah,” he finally said, and Moana let go of him. He stood straight, rubbing his ear and saying nothing more: he just watched along with her as the shimmering form reached the shore, until something that looked like fine mist rose from the waves and then took on a different shape - until a woman stood on the sand some distance away, like Gramma Tala had once stood on Moana’s boat. She turned to look at them, her expression impossible to see from that far away, and Maui’s fishhook fell from his slackened grip.

“Well,” Moana said, her voice very quiet, “I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

Maui didn’t reply, but she hadn’t really expected him to. She just watched him begin to walk up to the woman - very slowly, so much unlike his usual strides - and then turned to Pilifeai, who was squinting at the woman as though trying his best to see her face.

“I hope you’re not even thinking of eavesdropping this one.”

“Well, after coming this far–”

“Iti haere.”

“Wha– Oh, you are a pain, you know?” Pilifeai grumbled. Moana shrugged, picking him up and settling him down on her shoulder.

“You’re staying like this tonight,” she informed, turning away and starting what was going to be a fairly long walk back to the fledgling village. If Maui’s mother had come now it was likely Tamatoa’s would as well soon, and she wasn’t going to let Pilifeai intrude into that one, either. “Behave and I might turn you back your full size in the morning.”

“You know I can swim like this too, right? What keeps me from going the moment you turn–”

“And risk becoming some big fish’s dinner? Or a bird’s? I am pretty sure I have seen hawks around here,” Moana pointed out, causing Pilifeai to fall silent for a few moments as he tried to think of a retort. He clearly couldn’t think of anything, and he finally sighed.

“I loathe you.”

“No, you don’t. Just stick with me tonight, and you’ll be safe.”

“How about I bite off one of your ears?”

“Go ahead. I heard that roasted lizard is delicious.”

Pilifeai sighed, and settled down across her shoulders. “Ah well. It was worth a try,” he muttered. Moana chuckled and, before going around a bend, she turned to give just one glance back.

“Aww, look at that. They’re hugging,” Pilifeai said, and Moana smiled. There was lump in her throat and her vision was getting a bit blurry, but it didn’t feel bad at all.

“Well. That started out pretty well,” she said, and had to reach out to wipe her eyes before she turned back and resumed walking. “That hug was a long time coming.”

Pilifeai sniffled.

“… Sand in your eyes?” Moana guessed, but she had to wipe her own eyes again even as she grinned, causing the lizard to snort out a laugh.

“And in yours as well. I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

***

Maui had prepared a short speech for that moment.

Well, maybe not quite a speech, but he’d definitely been thinking up scenarios, and had had a few words in mind to tell his mother, when they were finally face to face. He had rehearsed them in his mind, over and over.

Except that now he didn’t remember a single word. It was hard to remember much of anything with his brain seemingly frozen, unable to process anything but the woman only a few steps from him. To be completely fair, he wasn’t the only one: she was doing exactly the same, just staring at him with wide eyes and not saying a single word. There was a light breeze, but it didn’t seem to touch her, her translucent clothes not moving with it. Somewhere by them the ocean waves still rolled, but they sounded so far away.

Without thinking, Maui brought a hand up to his hair and took the hairpin. He held it out on his palm, so that she could see it - it is me, you see, it’s really me - and her gaze paused on it for a few moments before looking back up at his face. Her eyes moved across his features, as though she was trying to find anything she’d recognize, but how could she? Last time she’d seen him, he’d been a baby… and not entirely formed to boot.

I don’t look like her.

The thought stung, just a little. There really was no resemblance he could see, aside from maybe something about the eye shape. She was taller than most women he’d met, but her frame was so slim it was hard to believe she’d carried him at any point in life, baby or not, and her features were a lot less marked than his own. Maui’s eyes moved from her face to her hair, which was short, uncannily so. Had they never grown back after she cut it to mourn him? No, that was ridiculous, growing was what hair did. Had she kept it short by choice? Had it been because of him, for him? Had she–

“This is where I came to lay you to rest.”

Her voice was quiet, as though coming from a mile away. Maui recoiled, and realized only then that she had turned her gaze to the rolling waves. She stared at them for a few more moments, as though seeing something he could not, and Maui finally found his voice.

“… It is?” he asked, looking around as though hoping to see a village that must have stood near that spot, a long time ago. It was odd to think that, some five thousand years earlier, his motionless body had been brought on those shores to be left to the sea, with Tamatoa watching on, still small enough to go unnoticed. Had he not stolen the hairpin that day, had Maui never met him, he would have never known the truth… and neither would his mother.

“Yes. Or at least, I thought I was laying you to rest. I thought I would never see you again. And then, when the end of my life neared, I thought I finally would. But you weren’t there,” she spoke again, a shaky quality to her voice that made Maui turn back to her. There were tears in her eyes, translucent as the rest of her was, but she was beginning to smile. “But here you are again. Here of all places. All grown up, a demigod, and… oh gods, you look so much like your father!”

Looking back, the statement shouldn’t have surprised him that much; most kids resemble at least one of their parents. But it was unexpected enough for Maui to be taken aback, and so was what she did next - she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.

“I looked for you for so long,” she choked out, and Maui held her back without thinking. It didn’t feel like holding onto someone of flesh and blood, but she wasn’t incorporeal either, and it was a lot more than what he’d thought he could have. For most of his life, he’d tried his best to keep himself from even wondering what a mother’s embrace would feel like.

“I’m sorry,” Maui heard himself saying. His own voice sounded alien to him, hoarse, and there was no blaming sand in his eyes for that. “I didn’t know– I just assumed you had… since I was left at sea…”

Taranga’s arms tightened their grip, her face resting against his shoulder. “Never, I could have never. We were so eager to welcome you. You were so wanted.”

Something in Maui’s chest, a weight that had always been there - no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, no matter the lessons learned and the knowledge that he was worthy, whether or not those who had brought him into the world could see it - melted away, the familiar ache turning into something else he couldn’t quite define. How do you even begin to call the absence of an ache that used to be such a fundamental part of you, the very core of everything he’d ever tried to be? Maui didn’t know. And at the moment, he found that he really didn’t care.

You were so wanted.

“I know it now,” he found himself saying. “A crab told me. The one who stole your hairpin.”

The sound that left her could have been a sob, or a laugh, or both. She finally pulled back - it took Maui some effort to force himself to let go - and reached to take his face in her hands. “You’ll have to tell me all that happened, because the Manaia’s explanation was quite confusing,” she said, and smiled again, thumbs brushing over Maui’s cheeks. He leaned into the touch without thinking. “Along with everything else you’ve been up to. I’d heard of you, can you believed it?” she added, and laughed. It sounded much deeper than he’d have expected from someone so slim. “So many people coming to the Underworld talking about this great hero, this Maui, and it was you. My little littlest boy, not so little anymore.”

Maui gave a somewhat sheepish grin. “Well, hope you have some spare time, because there is a lot to tell. Some of the stuff I did wasn’t… well, I didn’t really think it all the way through. But overall– wait,” he cut himself off, blinking down at her, the moment what he’d just heard sank in. “Your littlest boy? Do I have siblings?”

Taranga smiled up at him again. No, wait, that wasn’t a smile at all - that was a grin. Suddenly, Maui could see some resemblance all right. “You have five.”

“Five?”

The grin became somewhat sheepish. “Mua, Taha, Pae, Roto and Hina. I asked them to stay behind, because I figured that… well, seeing us all at once might be overwhelming.”

Maui, who’d already started to grin himself, felt a pang of disappointment at the words. “Ah,” said. “I… would like to meet them too, sometime. Maybe next time–”

“Well, that’s good to know,” his mother cut him off, turning to glance at the sea with a raised eyebrow. “Because as usual, they didn’t listen to me at all.”

“… Huh?”

Maui followed her gaze. The sun was almost entirely gone now, the sky beginning to darken, and he could see something approaching fast - five of them, really. They could have passed off as normal sharks, if not for the otherworldly glow around each of them and the translucent trails they left behind. They were coming straight at them - it seemed to Maui that a couple of them were making a point of cutting in in front of the others - and it only took moments before one of them reached land, its form shifting and a man’s voice shouting in victory.

“First! As usual. Is it me or you guys are getting slower with each passing century? It felt like racing with old ladies.”

“You cheated, you lump of stupid!”

“Ho-oh, the old lady is a sore loser!”

“You kept cutting us off!”

“Like you didn’t, Pae. And you still came, what, fourth? Ah well. At least you weren’t dead last. Hey, Roto. Took you a while. Did you get lost on the way?”

“Taha, are we really going to start this aga–”

“All right, get out of the way, all of you. I’ve had to look at your mugs for thousands of years. I’ve got a new brother to get sick and tired of, if you don’t min–”

“I was under the impression I’d asked the lot of you not to come,” Tarange spoke out, and there was an edge to her voice that very nearly caused Maui to cringe. There was something downright scary there, and he found himself thinking he wasn’t really looking forward to ever being on the receiving end of it.

Those who were on the receiving end - four men, all of them almost as broad as himself, and a woman who was taller than at least two of them - immediately fell silent and turned to them, moving as one like trained dolphins.

“Well–”

“We were about to stay behind, but then Mua said–”

“Hey! Don’t go blaming me! We were all in this!”

There was a groan, and the woman - Hina, was that how his sister was called? - rolled her eyes. “Really?” she muttered, and took a step forward. “You can’t have expected us to really stay behind, Ma. Not for one moment. We’ve sort of been waiting to meet this baby brother for some five thousand of years,” she pointed out, and looked straight at Maui for the first time. The others were staring at him too, now, and while Maui was used to undivided attention, it was enough to make him uncomfortable now. So he reacted to it in the only way he knew: with cockyness.

“Well, was I worth the wait?” he asked, spreading his arms with a grin - never mind how much of him sort of dreaded a negative answer. He inwardly hoped that they wouldn’t notice Mini Maui sobbing away on his chest, with Mini Moana patting his back, and that they’d rather focus on the epic feats depicted on his skin. However, Hina seemed to notice none of it. She stared at him in the eye and raised an eyebrow, but a smile was already tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I’d been hoping for a baby sister, really. But a shape shifter, demigod of wind and the sea, hero of Men and whatnot?” Her face split in a grin. “I’d say that’s the next best thing.”

Later, Maui wouldn’t be sure which one of them had reached for him first; there was a blur of motion and a moment later he’d found himself on the sand, all breath knocked out of him, tackled by what felt like five dozen people instead of just five amongst gales of laughter.

“Oof!”

“Look at this! We looked for you across the Underworld, and you were up here all along!”

“Pulling off the stuff of legends!”

“And getting all the girls, I bet!”

“You left me behind as the youngest brother! The butt of all jokes! That should have been you, you know!”

“Haha! Good look making him the butt of all jokes now! Tagaloa, look at you!”

“Hey, what was that about you lifting the sky?”

“And slowing down the sun?”

“You’re gonna have to tell us everything!”

“And Taha thought he was so great because he got a whale once!”

“Well, it was a big whale!”

“Wait until we tell everybody about this!”

“If you think there’s a lot of us now, wait until you meet everyone else!”

“Yeah, there’s our grandmother wanting to meet you, and then our kids, and their kids, and their kids–”

“There was also a guy called Vailele and his wife, I think she’s my great grandkid or something, and they told us to tell you they said hi…”

“Like, half the Underworld wanted to come see you!”

The tackle had long since turned into a messy group hug, and by the time Maui let go of them they were all covered in sand, half-laughing and half-crying while pretending the latter was only caused by the sand. Standing a few feet away, Taranga shook her head - not without reaching to wipe her eyes as well first. “Kids,” she muttered, and then frowned. “… By the way, where’s your father?” she asked, only to get a few confused look.

“Wait, wasn’t dad with you?”

“We assumed he was with you.”

“No, I assumed he was with you.”

“See, so you were expecting us to turn up!”

“All right, but where’s dad?”

“… Huh, do you think that may be him?”

Pae’s question caused all of them to glance out and sea, which was now almost completely dark. And, in that darkness, Maui could just see something translucent moving in circles, then turning north, then going back and lingering for a few moments before turning west and start swimming again… towards another island.

Behind Maui, there was a collective groan.

“Yep,” Hina muttered. “His sense of direction still sucks.”

Taranga sighed. “Roto, be a dear and go fetch your father before he becomes lost.”

“Uugh, why does it always have to be me? Can’t someone else–” he began, but Hina smacked him in the chest suddenly, and with enough strength to throw him back into the sea with a yelp. His form returned to the likeness of a shark the moment he touched water.

“You heard the boss. Go get dad.”

The shark went without further arguments - though he did raise more splashes than necessary with his tail in their general direction - and Mua looked at Maui with a grin. “The old man’s gonna have a heart attack when he sees you,” he said. Maui raised and eyebrow.

“Can that actually happen after you’re dead?” he asked, doing his best to ignore how his heart was beating somewhere in his throat at the thought of seeing his father as well - someone who looked so much like him, if what his mother had said was true.

Unaware of his thoughts, his siblings shrugged. “We can find out,” Taha muttered, glaring himself a glare from their mother.

“I’d rather you don’t,” she muttered, but her voice was drowned out by Pae’s.

“Hey, shouldn’t there be a magical fishhook? Everyone always mentioned you had one.”

“Right! Is it true that you can shapeshift with it?”

Maui laughed. “Oh, you bet it is!” he exclaimed, turning back the way he’d come. The hook was exactly where he’d dropped it. “Give me a second to pick it up, and I’ll show you!”

Over the centuries and millennia, Maui had impressed thousands of humans with his feats; but he had been aware, deep down, that the ones he had truly wanted to impress were far beyond his reach. Now they were there, at the end of a long road that had led him right back where his life had begun, and he knew that he didn’t need to impress any of them. They had come so far to meet him again, and they would have done so even if he were not, well. Maui.

Still, he was Maui… and he may as well treat his family to a little show, after going almost literally through hell and back in order to find them.

So he went to pick up his hook and turned back to them, and to the two silvery beings that were heading back towards the beach. When he lifted it above his head, he could feel himself thrumming with energy in a way he never had, a weightlessness in his chest he’d never felt. He held onto his hook - still an extension of himself, no longer his crutch - more tightly, and smirked.

It’s Maui time.

***

“All right, all right, here’s the deal: I do it one more time, and then that’s it. Then lot of you goes to bed before your parents here have an aneurysm, because I’m not gonna be held responsible for that. Deal?”

“Deal!”

“Hey, you in the back! I saw you crossing your fingers! No crossing!”

“C’mon!”

“Look! No crossing!”

“Just do the thing! Pretty please?”

Ah well, Tamatoa supposed that he should relent, since his adoring public was asking so nicely. He grinned, and turned on his bioluminescence. It was a moonless night, and it easily outshone the few fires on the shore, getting some pretty loud cheering out of the kids. Humans sure were easy to impress - no wonder Maui got their adoration in no time at all. Had he known how that would turn out, he’d have followed his example way earlier.

“All right, that was it. Enough for the day,” Tamatoa said, and turned off his bioluminescence, causing a disappointed groan and a few protests before they gave in began following the adults back to the village. Truth be told he could have kept that up all night, except that he hadn’t seen Maui and Moana anywhere for a while and was wondering where they had gone. They hadn’t even heard his song, and that was a shame because it was great, if he said so himself. Humans had loved it, nodding so fast when he’d asked that for a moment he’d wondered if it would be possible for their heads to fall off their necks.

The adults hadn’t asked for him to sing again, but the kids had wanted to hear it two more times and even tried to sing along with questionable results, so he supposed humans got shy as they aged. It was the only explanation he could think of. Moana was probably an exception. But really, where had she disappeared to? Maybe he should go looking for–

“Hey,” Moana’s voice rang out suddenly, causing him to recoil. He hadn’t heard her coming at all, and he had to squint a bit to see her in the faint light of the fires on the shore.

“Human! Here you are! I was wondering where you went. You missed– wait, is that Pilifeai on your shoulder? And where’s Maui? Has he gone off again without even saying goodbye? Because that would be really rude and–”

“He hasn’t gone anywhere. At least I don’t think so,” Moana cut him off. “It’s just… his mother came to find him. I figured I should give them some time alone.”

“Oh,” Tamatoa muttered. Taken as he’d been with the tiny humans - he couldn’t remember ever having that much company in his life, really - he’d completely forgotten what both he and Maui had been waiting for. He instinctively turned back, were the profile of a cliff was barely visible in the dark. Long ago, it had been much higher than that… until a good chunk of it had collapsed on his mother, of course.

Once again, Moana seemed to guess exactly what was going through his mind. “That’s where she died, isn’t it?”

“… Yeah. Right by the cave we lived in.”

“What are you doing still here, then? She could show up any moment, and it’s a long way from the Underworld. It would be rather rude of you to make her wait,” Pilifeai muttered, and Tamatoa had to admit he kind of had a point.

“Right,” he said, but he didn’t move. He turned back to the human, trying to ignore the stab of nervousness. “What if she’s not coming?”

She tilted her head on one side, clearly taken aback. “What? Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because… because… I don’t know. What if she doesn’t show up?”

“Then she misses out. But I’m sure she’ll know better. If she came here all the way from Lalotai when she was alive for your sake, then–”

“But she could have come earlier, right? And Gran, too. Your grandmother came back for you. Why didn’t they? They knew where I was. I stayed here for a long time,” Tamatoa asked, but of course he knew that the human couldn’t possibly have an answer to that. He would have to ask his mother when she showed up. If she showed up. How long should he wait before he decided she just was not going to–

“Tamatoa! Look!”

He turned just in time to see exactly what she was pointing at: there was something out at sea, something translucent moving beneath the surface and heading straight where the entrance to the cave was. It disappeared from sight only moments later, hidden by one of the sides of the cliff, but it was enough for him to guess exactly what was it he’d just seen.

“Well,” Pilifeai spoke up the next moment, still sprawled across Moana’s shoulders. “Looks like you’ve got a visitor after all, you dense crustacean. Go and ask her. And possibly let me know what she said, because I’m dying to know more and the human here is a complete spoilsport.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I stand by what they said.”

“Looks like someone is going to stay this size for a while longer.”

“Uuugh. I hate you. And what are you staring at, crab? Are you going or not? Because–”

“Moana? Are you there?”

A man’s voice rang out, causing Moana to turn and Pilifeai to immediately hide under her hair. If he squinted, Tamatoa could see the shadow of someone standing not too far away from one of the fires.

“Coming, dad,” she called back, and reached to give Tamatoa’s pincer a pat. “Come on, just go. Don’t make her wait.”

“But…” Tamatoa paused, unable to voice the thought that had crossed his mind - what if she doesn’t like what she sees? - but of course Moana guessed exactly what he was thinking. She always did. He was starting to wonder if it was magic, or if he was just that predictable.

“No buts. I’m sure she’ll be so happy to see you.”

“I… well, of course she’ll be happy to see me! Who wouldn’t right?” Tamatoa muttered, huffing. “I was just… nevermind. I’m going. I’ll uh… see you in the morning,” he added quickly, and turned back to walk into the ocean before he lost his nerve.

He still remembered the way to his old cave very well, so much so that he needed no light to guide him as he walked across the ocean floor towards it. And it wasn’t a very long walk either but, for some reason, it seemed to stretch on for a long time.

***

“He just kept singing! We thought it would never end! Please, tell me this is not something he does all the time!”

Moana tried to ignore the way Pilifeai was snickering while hidden beneath her hair - she would need to have a very convincing talk with him later, to make sure he wouldn’t report that conversation to Tamatoa - and smiled a little sheepishly.

“Well, no all the time,” she said a bit tentatively. “Just… often, if given the chance. But if it helps, it’s easy to distract him. If he’s about to sing, diverting his attention on something else usually works. Show him something shiny, talk to him about something else entirely. He’d probably like that. He hasn’t had much company until now.”

Her father gave a long sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the gods,” he muttered. Beside him, her mother looked equally relieved. “I’ll let the others know. I don’t think we can withstand another day like this.”

“Oh, come on! I can’t have been that bad!” Moana said, getting a deadpan look from her mother.

“The children kept going on singing for hours after he stopped. Hours.”

“… Ah. Well, they’re kids. You know,” she said, inwardly thankful Maui had taken her to the other side of the island the moment Tamatoa had announced he’d start singing. Speaking of Maui, Moana though, he still wasn’t back. Was he still with his mother, or had she left? Maybe he needed some time on his own. And maybe so would Tamatoa, after it was all said and do–

“Well. I suppose the fact he saved your life is a good reason to be patient… if that is indeed what happened,” her father’s voice rang out, causing Moana to cringe. She’d almost forgotten how she hadn’t told them all the details of the journey to her people, and now she got a distinct feeling Tamatoa had done just that. In song form.

“Right. About that, there were… a couple of close calls,” she admitted, fervently hoping Tamatoa hadn’t gone into too much detail.

Fat chance.

“You actually went and threw a rock at the goddess of Death?”

Among other things, Moana thought, but she knew better than saying as much aloud. “I had sort of ran out of options to catch her attention. But all went well,” she added quickly, causing her father to groan and her mother to sigh before she reached to take her hand.

“Moana. Do you think you can just… stay with us on the island for a time? Maybe a few turns of the moon without getting involved with deranged deities?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice. In the flickering light of the fire they were sitting around, Moana really noticed for the first time how tired she looked, like she hadn’t gotten a full night of sleep in a while.

But of course she hadn’t: despite Moana’s efforts to sugarcoat it, it had been clear that the journey she was getting into could be very dangerous, because at sea any shift of the weather can become deadly. Of course they had worried for her: that was what parents do. How many times had they looked out at sea, hoping to see her boat at the horizon?

Trying to ignore a slight pang of guilt, Moana smiled and held back her hand. “Of course. I love being here with all of you. I’m sorry I ran off again so quickly. I missed you a lot.”

“Oh, dear. We missed you too, so much.”

“Awww!”

“… What was that?”

“What was what?” Moana asked innocently, casually reaching back to give Pilifeai a sharp poke through her hair. The lizard was smart enough to mute the resulting yelp.

“I thought I heard–”

“I didn’t hear a thing. Dad, tell me how things have been going! I have yet to see so much of this new island. How are you getting on with the harvest?”

“Rather well, actually! We found this spot just east from here that was perfect. I’ll show you first thing in the morning. Actually, I’d like to hear your opinion on this…”

***

“If you want my opinion–”

“But I don’t want your opinion! I have never in my life or death asked for your opinion! Why are you so obsessed with giving it anyway?”

“There’s no need to be rude. I’m sure he’ll be here, sooner or later. Unless he forgot where the Manaia told him to wait, or forgot where this island even is, or is stuck somewhere because he saw something shiny and his attention span is what it is. I would put none of it past him.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my son holding off Hine-Nui-Te-Po. And remind me again which one of you went to have a stroll on an undersea volcano.”

“Hmph. Now that was uncalled for - that volcano had been inactive for so long I had no idea it was even one. And before you get too smug, may I remind you…“

Whatever his grandmother said next was lost to Tamatoa, because he was not listening, not really. Standing in shallow water, shrouded in darkness, he could only stare at the departed spirits of his mother and grandmother, bickering only steps away from the entrance of the cave he’d been brought up in.

Otherworldly spirit glow thing aside, his grandmother - had she just invited herself over? But of course she had, it was the sort of thing she’d do - was everything like he remembered her: even more massive than himself, her shell darker than his own and mottled with black, looking all the world like she’d been cut out of stone. What he couldn’t tear his eyes from, however, was his mother.

He had very vague memories of her; it had been so long. If he focused, he remembered vaguely her bioluminescence in the dark, the occasional nudge from her antennae, and little else. Now he could tell that yes, she was smaller than he was now, her skin and shell several shades lighter. Her pincers were entirely missing, the skin heavily scarred where her arms should have been - if that could be called skin, really, because he wasn’t really sure what spirits were made of. They made ripples in the water as they moved, though, so he supposed they had to be sort of corporeal. Maybe he should ask.

He would have, if only he could make himself speak. Instead, he took a hesitant step forward - and one of his legs slipped on an unstable boulder beneath the water, causing him to stagger for a moment and raise splashes of water.

“… And besides I didn’t see you making it to my ag– huh? Who’s there?”

His grandmother suddenly turned in his direction, eyes narrowing to see through the dark, causing Tamatoa to inwardly cringe. For one absurd moment, it felt like he’d been caught with his pincers in the clam jar all over again.

“I know someone is there!” she spoke up again, and took a couple of steps forward. “Tamatoa? Is that you?”

Tamatoa opened his mouth to croak a ‘yes’, but he stopped himself just on time, frowning. Wait a moment, he thought, that wasn’t right. He was supposed to make a cool entry, wasn’t he? Something impressive. Why had he just rushed to the meeting point without thinking? He could at least have come up with something to say, or maybe even a musical number. Really, just showing up like that would make a really bad first impression. He had to think of something impressive to say or do, and he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he did the only thing he could think of on the spot: he turned on his bioluminescence.

In the moonless night it seemed even brighter than usual; it was enough to make them pause and stare, which made him feel just a touch smug. Alright, maybe a bit more than a touch. Except that his mother spoke after a moment, and the smugness disappeared because yes, the light show was great and all, but he still had no idea what to say.

“… Tamatoa?” she called out, taking a few steps towards him.

All right, all right. Don’t panic. Play it cool.

“Yeah. I mean, of course! Who else could it be? I am… the only one left, right? Unless some other dead crab is out and about, I guess, but I never saw any around, so while it’s not technically impossible… huh. I mean. Yeah. That’d be me,” he babbled, mentally kicking himself for sounding like a complete idiot. Then his mother stopped in front of him, and it took him a conscious effort not to step back.

What if she doesn’t like what she sees?

I’m sure she’ll be so happy to see you.

For a few, unnerving moments, she just stared; she had to look up to him, but somehow Tamatoa still felt really, really small. Then her antennae were touching his face - the touch was really odd, sort of corporeal and sort of not, but definitely there - and the wide-eyed look faded into a grin that looked oddly familiar.

“Oh, look at you!” she exclaimed, sounding absolutely delighted, and took a few steps back. “You’re a lot bigger than your father ever was!”

“That might be because you ate that idiot when he was half his age. Like most most males who actually mated,” Tupuna’s voice rang out somewhere behind her, but she seemed to take absolutely no notice: she was already circling Tamatoa, as though to properly size him up. She paused for a moment, and frowned.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Ah. That, er… that was lost in battle. But I won in the end! Absolutely!” he added quickly, and the grin was back on his mother’s face like it had never faded. She turned to look at his grandmother, her face the very picture of smugness. That, too, looked eerily familiar. 

“Hah! So much for being a runt, huh, mother?”

There was a sigh, and Tamatoa turned to see Tupuna approaching. Her glow turned the water around her to molten silver. “Fine, fine. I get it. I was wrong,” she conceded, and turned to look at him before uttering the closest thing to a compliment she was capable to think up. “I have to admit, you did get quite a bit bigger than I thought you ever would.”

“And look at the pincers - he could grind every single crab I’ve met to dust!”

“I, er… thanks? I mean - of course I could!” Tamatoa immediately corrected himself, and grinned. With the sense of wonder fading, he found he really liked how that meeting was going. “Shame there aren’t any around for me to show it, but I’ve been keeping myself busy. You know, slowing down the sun, beating up the occasional monster, the occasional demon, a goddess, things like that. I usually do that on Tuesdays, but–”

“All right, enough. Don’t go too far, Tinytoa,” his grandmother cut him off, and sneered at his offended look. “Oooh, look at that. You still pout like you used to.”

“I’m not pouting! And… and I’m not tiny! Come on!”

“Hah! And you still say the same thing, too. But this old lady is still bigger than you are, you know,” she pointed out, flicking her antennae at him like she used to in life. “Plus, I am your grandmother. I get to call you whatever I want.”

“But–”

“No buts. Don’t talk back to your grandmother, kid.”

“I am five thousand years old!”

“Cute. We’ll talk about this again when you’re past fifteen-thousand.”

“Mom!”

“Oh, stop teasing him,” his mother muttered, rolling her eyes. “Keep that for Ngaire, Ngaio and just about everyone else.”

“Hmm. Fair enough. Shame we didn’t bump into them on our way out, because I’d have loved to have a few words with them before leaving.”

… Wait. Tamatoa had heard those names before. “What, you mean those two old hags I met at Manawa-Tane?” he asked, causing Tīaka to snort.

“Yes, them. They sauntered down in the Underworld, pleasant as eels stuck between one’s teeth, talking complete nonsense about how I should have tried for another clutch. I can’t wait to mention to them what you’ve–”

“So it was nonsense, right?”

Tamatoa had blurted out the question without thinking, and found himself trying to shrink a little when both of them paused and turned to look at him, blinking as though they had just heard him speaking in a foreign language. “I-I mean… what they said about, you know…” Tamatoa paused, making a vague gesture with his claw. “How you should have, uh, discarded me and… that I was kind of a waste? I mean, of course I know they were absolutely wrong, you know, never doubted it for a moment! But I was wondering, if you agree… well. You agree, right? That it wasn’t true at all?”

For a moment, Tīaka just stared at him in silence. Finally, her eyes narrowed. “Is that precisely what they said?”

“Uh… yes. They also called you an idiot.”

“… They’re dead.”

Tupuna snorted. “Of course they’re dead. We all are.”

“You know what I mean,” her daughter said drily, and looked back at Tamatoa. “Wait. You didn’t believe that, did you?”

“Wha– nooo, absolutely not!” Tamatoa immediately protested, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling that she could read the truth on his face, clear as day. “I know I’m absolutely amazing, so why should I believe them?” he added, and grinned, pointing at himself with a bioluminescent claw. “They were probably just jealous of all this magnificence.”

His grandmother sighed. “Oh gods, he does take after his father. Your looks and his brains,” she muttered, earning himself an unimpressed look from her daughter. Still, it was on Tamatoa that Tīaka turned her attention to, taking a few steps closer.

“All right. I want you to listen now and listen well, because I’m only going to say this once,” she said, and something about her stare seemed to glue Tamatoa on the spot. For the second time in minutes he felt very, very small. “I am dead, our entire species is gone - but you are here and I’m not even remotely sorry. My only regret is that I was unable to save your siblings as well. That is all. If I could go back to having no claws and just one hatched egg, I’d do everything I have done all over aga– no, scratch that. I probably wouldn’t have gone out on a stroll that day if I’d known a cliff would crash down on me. But as far as you’re concerned, there is nothing I would change. Is that clear?”

Tamatoa opened his mouth, but for a moment he was unable to speak. His eyes turned towards his grandmother, who shrugged. “What she said,” she muttered curtly. That was probably as far as she’d go with reassurances, but it was already a lot more than Tamatoa would have expected from the old battle axe, and he supposed it would do. He looked back at his mother and swallowed a couple of times before he could croak an answer.

“Crystal,” he replied, and his mother’s expression melted in a grin.

“Great,” she said, one antenna ficking at his own. “With that out of the way, we have a lot to catch up with. What have you been up to?”

Well, now that was going to take a while to get through. Good thing, Tamatoa thought, that he was really good at talking about himself for hours on end.

And he did talk for hours, through the entire night right until dawn, trying his best to recall all of his coolest moments and maybe exaggerate a detail or two. His grandmother hardly interrupted him - nothing short of a miracle, really - while his mother listened to each word with rapt attention, just the kind of attention he liked.

It would be only later, when both of them had left to return to the Underworld with the promise to visit again, that Tamatoa realized something: taken as they were by him, neither of them seemed to have even noticed the gold embedded in his shell.

***

[Back to Chapter 17]

[On to Epilogue]

[yeolsmuffin]

Unexpected Father - Jongdae

The Unexpected Father Series

One - Jongdae | Two - Kai |

Pairing: ReaderxJongdae

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Jongdae and you were once together, but upon finding out you were pregnant, you cut all ties. Since you didn’t want to ruin his idol lifestyle, you raised your daughter alone for three years... until one day you run into him again and there is no mistaking her matching eyes, smile, and ears.

The love a mother feels for her child can never be fully explained. You first felt it the moment you found out you were pregnant. While you were coated in fear, you instantly loved the tiny jelly bean of a human that resided inside your body.

Sure, you were only twenty-one years old, not quite finished with college, and in an on again off again long distance relationship – but that didn’t matter. There was nothing you could do but become a mother. This meant some unfortunate things would have to take place. Firstly, you had to rush and work double time to finish college early, secondly, you had to try to get a job in your field – which was elementary teaching, so you could afford the child on your own, and lastly, you had to let go of the love of your life.

Once you had gotten your first pregnancy scan, you had to cut the man you loved off. Jongdae. He was an idol so you couldn’t tell him and even if you could, you were afraid that it may mean, giving up your child. You couldn’t – no wouldn’t – do that.

Instead, you let him go.

You got a new number, moved, and dropped all ties to him.

You cried over it for days, weeks, and months.

The only form of happiness was branched from the growing life inside you. While you were alone in a new city and no support system nearby, you started a new job and tried to make a life for you and the unborn child. You got a job, working as a teacher’s aid in an elementary school which surrounded you by bright and blooming children.

Of course, you couldn’t help but be afraid. You were going to raise a baby alone and you would be that single mother. To distract yourself from that, you would place headphones around your stomach and let the baby listen to the sounds of their father’s voice. Even if he couldn’t be here for the child, you would raise the child with its father right under its nose. Never telling them that it was their father, but ensuring that the man would have an influence on its life.

Now, it had been three years since you had your child. A bright little girl named Eunchae who made your heart break with one look. Inevitably she had his eyes, smile and his ears. It was almost as if he was with you for these past few years, after all.

Eunchae loved Exo’s music. She danced and bobbed along with it the second she could do so. She was even more intrigued to see their faces when you played music videos for her. Your daddy is right there, you wanted to say to her. But you couldn’t.

Today was a bright summer day, so you took a trip into the town that you once called home to visit your parents. With a giggly Eunchae in your hands, you walked down the sidewalk, humming an Exo song to her as she hummed back.

“Mom. Mom. Mom.” Eunchae kept saying and pointing at something in the distance.

You just smiled at her. “Eunchae. Eunchae. Eunchae.” As you bounced her on your hip and you neared a playground you used to go to when you were younger. “Want to play?” You asked while poking her nose with your finger.

“Mom.” Eunchae said again with confusion as she pointed somewhere.

You sighed, wondering what she was going to throw a fit about this time. “What, love?” You asked her as you followed her finger.

Before you could even turn around all the way, you heard the deep voice. “Y/N.” He said your name with almost a sigh of relief, but you weren’t as relieved as he was. You wanted to hide Eunchae and run until you got away from him.

Automatically, you pressed Eunchae closer to you, as you faced Jongdae who was sitting on the swings nearby where you were standing. You didn’t say anything as you stared at him and Eunchae started whining.

“Eunchae. Shh.” You whispered kissing her head.

“Hi.” Jongdae said quietly, keeping his place on the swings.

Eunchae waved at him with a smile and you thrusted your chin in his direction. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a break. I wanted to see if I could find you this time.”

What did he mean this time? You wondered. Had he really been looking for you all these years? You were sure he would have given up on the two of you when you started to ignore him.

He looked at Eunchae with raised eyebrows. “A lot has happened in three years, hasn’t it?” You laughed, more to yourself than at him. He must have thought you hooked up with someone else while he was gone – but he was wrong. Not even in the three years that Eunchae was born. It was only ever Jongdae that mattered to your heart.

You had to block him out and be cold for his safety, not yours.

Although, you found it comical that he didn’t even notice that Eunchae looked like him. You could see it from a distance.

“What do you mean?” You asked him, knowing very well what he meant.

“She’s cute.” He said pointing to Eunchae who had her eyes locked on her father. You wondered if maybe somehow, she knew that he was her father.

You nodded. “I have to get going now.” Turning on your heels to leave before things got anymore awkward.

You heard him right behind you in the instant you tried to leave. He grabbed your arm. “Please don’t.” That’s when he got a face to face look at Eunchae and he sucked in a breath. “Wow. She’s so pretty.”

Eunchae reached out for him and your heart crumbled. “No Eunchae. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hold you.” But Eunchae kept reaching out to him.

You groaned but Jongdae just smiled, the mirror image of Eunchae’s. “Can I hold her?”

Reluctantly, you let Eunchae go into his arms and she gripped around his neck tightly while she stared into his eyes. Eunchae wasn’t pouting anymore and just smiled and hummed happily.

Jongdae’s eyes grew wide. “So, you haven’t forgotten me.” He said simply.

You raised any eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

His smile turned cocky. “She’s humming one of our songs.”

You could feel the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Well. It’s good music.”

“I never forgot you either.” He said while he brushed Eunchae’s hair down with his hands. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have understood.”

You eye him skeptically as your daughter lays her head on his shoulder. “Understood what?”

“That you loved someone else.” He looked crushed and heartbroken as the words came out. Of course, he must have thought you had been with another man behind his back or something.

Your heart quickened while you led him over to the steps that led up to a slide and you both sat down near each other, as Eunchae continued to clutch tightly to him.

“Listen.” You said softly. “I never have loved anyone other than you. There was just a situation that came up and I didn’t want to involve you.”

The picture of Eunchae and Jongdae together, made you smile. You hoped after he left that you could remember this moment forever because you knew it would never happen again. They looked so much alike. Matching smiles, eyes and ears. Enough to make your knees weak. She was naturally drawn to him and you had never seen her like a stranger so much before – although, a stranger has never been her biological father before.

He started to say something but you cut him off.

“Maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about it.”

Jongdae sighed. “I need the closure, Y/N. I haven’t been able to get over you. One day you just stopped talking to me and when I came home – you had disappeared. I’ve spent so much time agonizing over you. There’s nobody else for me. I just need the truth so I can maybe move on.”

You shook your head. “I can’t give you the truth.” There was no way you could tell him that Eunchae was his. He was a famous idol with a busy schedule and crazy fans. Nobody could know about Eunchae, it might ruin things for him. You especially couldn’t tell him that you were madly in love with him. Just listening to his music and watching his videos would make you tear up.

It hurt him that you didn’t want to tell the truth. You guys had dated for a couple years before Eunchae and you had a vow of honesty, a vow that you had to break. “It’s hard to see.” He looked at his daughter again, as she continued to look at him lovingly. “You with a child and all… it just changed a lot of things.”

“That’s why I kept you in the dark.”

“Did you cheat on me?” He suddenly asked.

You shook your head. “Of course not, Jongdae.”

He looked from you to his daughter one more time and he sighed. “She looks familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Jongdae, can I come out now?”  A voice asked from behind the slide. You jumped up when you saw Minseok but you were only shocked for a moment before he forced you into a hug. “We missed you.” He said squishing you against him.

When he pulled back, you looked at his gentle face. “How- what?” You questioned.

He shrugged. “I was walking with Jongdae when he saw you and he forced me to hide under the slide so he could talk to you.” Then he looked over at Eunchae, his eyes growing big and he looked back and forth between the three of you. “Woah.”

“What hyung?” Jongdae asked.

Minseok’s mouth was slightly agape. “You were trying to fish out who the child’s father was-“

Jongdae cut him off. “I told you not to listen!”

You started to bite your lip nervously. “Minseok. Jongdae. I need to go.” You reached for Eunchae but she just started to cry when you tried to take her and she clutched tighter to Jongdae.

“Jongdae.” Minseok still sounded shocked. “I think you need to look in the mirror.”

Jongdae rolled his eyes and comforted Eunchae. “What are you going on about, hyung?”

Minseok reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, pulling out the camera and showing it to Jongdae. “See for yourself.”

You tried to grab the phone from Minseok but he just raised his eyebrow at you and shook his head.

Jongdae stared into the phone and gasped, grabbing it from Minseok and staring at him and Eunchae and taking a picture in the process. “She looks like me…”

“Um.” You started to say, but now you were backed into a corner metaphorically.

With tears rolling from his eyes, he stood up and clutched Eunchae with one hand and reached out for you with the other. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

And you couldn’t back away as you let him pull you into an embrace, cuddling the three of you together as you both cried. You knew there would be so much to discuss, but your mind was at ease as he happily held the two of you against him. Just by his warmth, you felt all the worries you once had being washed away. You weren’t sure, but you thought you could feel his rapid heartbeat as you thought you heard him whisper, ‘I love you’.

--->Series Masterlist<---

[kirukirice]

Among the Crows: Chapter 45 -  The Kara Who Loved A Human

Are you ready for the angst yall? Cause I sure am. Broke my chapter word count with this one ^^; 

Here marks the end of the UkaTake arc. I had a lot of fun writing it, and they really grew on me as much as Daisuga did. Thanks for bearing with me! :’))

The morning after, Takeda made a speech at breakfast.

“It’s about time for me to leave.”

Those were the words the Ukais knew would come one day from Takeda’s mouth, but they never expected it to be so soon.

“I truly appreciate everything you’ve given me this past year or so. I will never be able to thank you all enough.”

Keishin looked visibly shaken as his eyes slowly widened in disbelief, but Takeda was immensely calm and gracious as he spoke.

“I’ve made arrangements to live with our neighbours for a while more before I leave the village. They have so kindly allowed me to continue my research with them as I move on to studying the next stage of the Kara life cycle.”

It was if yesterday didn’t happen at all.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pack up all my belongings.”

Once the two were alone, Ukai grabbed Takeda by the hand and led him out back.

“This is the first time I’m hearing this,“ he said, absolutely fuming.

"Of course. It’s the first time I’m talking about this.” Takeda replied coolly.

“What the fuck? Sensei, are you being serious right now?”

“I am.”

“Then what was yesterday?”

Takeda smiled, apathetic. “Research.”

Ukai grasped him roughly by the collar and glared straight into his cold, bespectacled eyes. Takeda didn’t even flinch.

“You’d better tell me this is a sick joke right now,” he seethed. His head began to hurt.

“I learned a lot from you from my time here. None of this would have been possible without you, so, thank you.”

Ukai stayed his trembling fists.

“‘Thank you?’” he whispered, utterly baffled by everything this man was spouting. It was like he didn’t know him at all. “'Thank you?!’ I can’t fucking believe this. I’m not your bloody guinea pig.”

“I believe I made it very clear the moment I met you. I’m here to study Karas.”

“So you screw all your test subjects, then?”

Takeda’s mouth opened and paused, before emitting a light-hearted chuckle.

“Did you really think I liked you?”

The boy stared speechlessly at him. He felt like his world had lurched itself sideways and was about to drop off the edge of a cliff. And the one who had put it there was the one who had raised it in the first place.

Takeda’s patronizing look was too much to bear.

“Ukai, you should know by now that all I care about is my research. And now, I know everything I need to know about you. Your thoughts, your habits, your family, even your body. I don’t need you anymore.”

Ukai swung.

His whitened knuckles stopped a hair’s breadth away from the man’s cheek.

Breathing hard, his jaw ached as hot blood rushed through his tensed up muscles. He clenched and unclenched his eyes, and when he opened them again and saw Takeda’s face, he felt nothing but hatred in that instant.  

“Don’t fuck with me.” he yelled. “Everything we’ve done until now, everything you’ve been–”

“It was only to get the information I needed. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.” Takeda said solemnly.

“So this is the real you?”

He didn’t respond, and glanced away.

Ukai grit his teeth and his feathers ruffled. He couldn’t accept it. He didn’t want to. And yet, it seemed like the only tangible thing of Takeda right now was the cloth that he gripped tightly in his hand. How did everything go so wrong, so quickly?

“You must be a damn good actor, then. I should have left you under the snow like they told me.” he muttered bitterly. Shoving his collar away, he turned his back on Takeda and spread his wings.

“Fuck off. And don’t ever come back.”

Takeda left without a trace the next morning. He took all his possessions away - all the books, papers, and ink - along with the last shreds of the Kara’s feelings for him.

It was all just empty now. Empty, with nothing more and nothing less. Not hatred, nor sorrow. It was a cruel blessing that Takeda had left nothing behind, for Ukai couldn’t bring himself to think about him. He blocked out everything that reminded him of the man, even the fundamental feeling of joy, and his polluted thoughts never received closure.

Alas, life had to go on.

As the household returned to normalcy without a human in their midst, so did Ukai’s heart begin to mend, piece by shattered piece. Those around him could tell that the fissure had certainly cut deep, for his eyes had lost some of its rambunctious vigour. Even his harsh frown had mellowed with an abstruse sadness, and it seemed like the old Ukai had gone with time. At the very least, along the way he had regained a little more faith in the Karas and a smidgen of maturity, if anything were to be celebrated at all.

As much as Fate was known to be a cruel master and a benevolent god, what was often forgotten was the way it delighted in creating twisted concoctions with the two. What mattered was how high the peaks rose and how low the valleys dipped.

And so on one fateful evening, when the Ukais had not heard a single word about nor glimpsed the human for weeks on end, a frantic messenger came pounding at their door. Keishin answered the door then, and when he opened it, the terrified face of the old lady next door greeted him.  

“Oh, my darling boy, where are your parents?” she panted and sighed meekly, her old bones unable to keep up with her haste.

“They’re inside. What’s wrong?” he asked.

“He’s– oh, dear me—come quickly, he’s dying!”

“The old man?” He prepared to dash back inside the house, but she held onto his arm.

“No, the young human!”

Ah, nothing in this world made sense.

At that very moment in time, he should have told her to go back, and closed the door. He should have cared zero times out of ten. He should have forgotten about how much Sensei meant to him.

But he didn’t do any of those things, for an intelligent mind is an irrational one.

Ukai bolted out the door and headed straight for the old couple’s house. He arrived in half the time it took to get there, and the elderly man who had been waiting anxiously by the door ushered him into the room quickly with an exclamation of dismay.

Once Ukai entered the dimly lit scene, the air stood still. The old man shook the boy’s stiffened arm and urged him to move, but all Ukai heard was a muffled cry. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man who had collapsed onto the floor, and the mess of ink and paper that had cascaded along with his fall. Takeda’s blood-stained shirt, hands, and mouth told Ukai enough of the story; he just hoped that he would be alive to tell him the rest of it.

Picking Takeda up in his arms, Ukai returned to the clinic and kicked open the doors.

The next time Takeda woke up, he found himself surrounded by a familiar smell. He was back on Ukai’s bed again, and he couldn’t fathom why; but knowing the reason was not important right now. Despite feeling like his lungs were about to collapse on him at any moment – no, precisely because they were – he had to leave. As he gathered his strength to get up, he clutched his chest tightly and took slow, careful breaths.

He pushed away the thick blankets and took one step out of the bed. But then, he heard Akkuro screech sharply above him, and he flinched. Footsteps began to approach. Shortly after, Ukai walked into the room with a stern look on his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ukai murmured.

Takeda said nothing and walked past him, but Ukai caught him by the shoulder.

“I’m leaving.” The man uttered softly. It seemed like that was the loudest he could muster.

“The old lady busted her ass to get here and tell us you almost died. What the hell happened?” Ukai pressed. Takeda coughed and winced, as if bracing himself for something. Covering his mouth, he shook his head and said, “I have to go.”

Although his stubbornness had once moved Ukai, it wouldn’t be the same this time.

“You’re not leaving till I get an answer. The old gramps said you were coughing up blood. Often. How long has it been?”

The man looked down. How did the old man know? “It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business the moment I had to pick your ass up and save you. Tell me.”

Then, Takeda began coughing, and he hunched over from the pain. Ukai frowned, and he guided the man to sit on the bed. When he stopped and could breathe normally again, Ukai took his palm. The boy saw the red stains and grimaced.

He knew now. The one being protected was him.

Ukai hugged Takeda and closed his eyes. He had truly missed this.

“Sensei, you’re a bad liar. But you almost fooled me there.”

Takeda’s eyes watered.

“Ukai…”

“Is this why you wanted to leave?”

He broke away from his embrace and Ukai’s arms hovered sadly at his sides. “Enough. We’re through.”

“We were. I can’t leave you like this.”

“Just forget about me. This was all a mistake—that day, was a mistake.” He uttered as his tears fell. “I shouldn’t have—“

Ukai shut his lips with a kiss.

It felt like falling in love all over again.

The first kiss led to a hesitant second, then quickly a third, and slowly a fourth. Ukai held Takeda’s hand and slipped his tongue through the man’s parched lips, then sealed them with a long, deep, and intimate kiss. They broke apart and panted for air, and Ukai’s brooding eyes filled with tears as he gazed longingly at Takeda.

“Are you leaving me again?” he asked, and the droplets trickled down his cheek as he blinked. Each one bore a deep hole into Takeda’s aching heart, and he squeezed the Kara’s hand tightly.

“I’m sorry, Ukai. I’ve dragged you into this mess, and I didn’t mean for us to turn out this way. But I won’t lie to you anymore.” Takeda said. He never wanted things to turn out this way, but he knew from the very beginning that it wouldn’t work out.

“I don’t have much longer to live.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“My family carries an incurable disease. My father died from it, and so did his mother before him. The symptoms always appear once the person reaches adulthood, and no one survives in the year it starts.”

Ukai’s heart sank.

“The first signs are when common illnesses become more frequent.”

That happened.

“Then, haemorrhaging of the lungs.”

That happened, too.

“Finally…” Takeda took a breath, “The lungs will fail altogether, and I will either die from blood loss or asphyxiation, whichever comes first.”  

Takeda dipped his head.

Ukai held him close. He was still here.

“I don’t know when it’ll happen. I thought it did, just now,“ he admitted. Ukai shook his head as he forced his brain to think. “There must be a way.”

“We’ve been travelling for generations to find a cure. There hasn’t been a single lead for almost a century.” Takeda lamented.

“No. I won’t let you die.” Ukai cried.

“Ukai…”

“There’s nothing out there that can’t be cured. Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong places.”

“Ukai, it’s been so long,” Takeda sighed softly, “When my mother told me why my father died, she also told me to go and live my life like every day was going to be my last. She didn’t want me to have the same regrets my father did. So I left home to devote my life to pursuing the only thing I loved more than her. It’s better this way, that I end a bloodline of suffering.”

Still the boy refused to give up as Takeda had done years ago.

“Maybe the humans don’t have the knowledge. But the Karas–” he perked up and became filled with agitation– “The Karas know things that humans don’t. Grandpa knows a lot of other doctors out there. Surely one of them will know what to do.”

Once they broke the news to the rest of the family, Grandpa Ukai immediately unfurled a dusty old map and charted the path that he and his grandson would take. They would visit the greatest doctors among the Kara settlements across and return within a month, hopefully with an answer by then. Takeda tried to persuade them not to go, but the old man would not give up on him either.

He gave the man a big hug and said, “Sensei, if this is where your journey ends, then I must say this now. You are an amazing person who has brought many gifts to us and this world. It has been a great honour working with you, Kara or not.”

“Sir…” Takeda held back his tears.

“Which is why I must not let your efforts be in vain.”

Ukai hugged Sensei one last time.

Wait for me, he said, and it took everything within Takeda to nod.

And with their final goodbyes, the two Karas left on swift wings.

They reached their first destination without incident, a small town hidden within a deep valley. The medicine master readily heard their pleas, but the moment the word ‘human’ appeared in their conversation, she shied away and declared that she would be of no help. Whether it was a matter of pure skill or outright rejection, the muddy waters soon cleared to reveal the shuddering depths below as they continued on their quest.

Time and again, the other doctors turned Ukai and his grandfather down, even if they had known the old man for most of his life, and even if Keishin begged them for their help. They would put on a face of apprehension or even ridicule, and then kindly remind him of his position.

‘Ukai, haven’t you heard from the Capital? Maybe your village is too far away after all.’

Grandpa Ukai would become increasingly frustrated with each passing Kara. ‘I know the Capital’s stand, but I have my reasons.’

‘You know what they’ll do.’

‘If you won’t deign to help me, then so be it.’

The flame of hope looked so far away in the darkness that the two Ukais began to wonder if it had been only a figment of their imagination from the very beginning. Had things always been this way? Had they, too, been such hostile parties to outsiders before Takeda? Slowly, Keishin descended back down the path whence he had begun to turn away from, and his disgust for his kind resurfaced.

When they reached the end of their route with nobody and nothing to bring home, Grandpa Ukai solemnly addressed Keishin with a grave heart.

"We’ve tried our best, Keishin. Let’s go home.”

“They’re all useless.” The boy spat, trembling with rage and despair.

“They have their reasons, too. All we can do now is try whatever we can for him.”

But back at home, the news that awaited them was the last thing they wanted to hear.

“The Capital came to look for him days after you two had left. Thankfully, he hid next door and they didn’t find him.” Ma said, saddened.

“Then where is he?” Ukai demanded, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“He left behind all his things and vanished the next day. Akkuro brought him out without us knowing and we tried to find him - believe me, we did–!”

Ukai didn’t want to hear any of it.

“But even Akkuro didn’t know, because he rode off on a rhea afterwards into the forest. Oh, why, Sensei…” she mourned and wrung her wrists.  

Why?

Yes, Why?

“Why…” Ukai hissed, a hopeless anger overcoming him. “Why didn’t you keep an eye on him?”

“Keishin… I’m sorry.” Ma began, but the boy kicked over a chair and heaved, “All of you… even fucking Akkuro!”

“Keishin. It’s not her fault.” Grandpa Ukai said, and moved to hold his shoulder, but he brushed it off roughly with his wing. He took deep, shaky breaths and clenched his fists.

“Then whose fault is it? What the hell are we supposed to do now? He could be dead already!”

The family fell silent.

Ukai charged into his room and grabbed Akkuro off his perch, and the poor hawk screeched as it tried to escape.

“Keishin! Don’t bring this out on Akkuro!” Grandpa Ukai reprimanded harshly and pulled the boy away, who shouted as he flapped his wings and struggled to break free from the old man’s grasp.

“Where is he?! Where did you bring him?”

Akkuro calmed his frazzled feathers and flew onto the windowsill, frightened at the boy’s aggression.

“Don’t you dare fly off! Tell me now, you fucking traitor!”

“Keishin! Calm down!”

The hawk chirped twice and fled the scene.

“How the fuck do I calm down?! He’s gone! He’s fucking gone. Sensei is… gone… ” Ukai panted and broke down into tears, weary and desolate of heart. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He felt so helpless, so alone, and so lost.

Why didn’t you wait for me?

Did you have no faith in me?

Was I not good enough for you?

That was the final swing of the hammer on his shattered psyche.

He couldn’t trust anyone. Not his family, not his friends.

Not even Sensei.

Ukai eventually left the nest with Sensei’s precious belongings in tow. Fifteen books tied up neatly in order, three quills, two ink pots, one eyeglass cloth, one ink-stained blotting cloth, a ream of scattered papers, a spool of binding thread with a needle, a pair of silver scissors, and a small set of precision instruments. It seemed like that was all. All that he had to remember him by. He kept them all shut away inside a bag and slung the heavy load over his shoulders.

Before the boy disappeared, Akkuro greeted him with a final nuzzle and Sensei’s parting words.

I’m sorry. I hope you find peace from my words.

The only way he knew how to find peace, however, was to see the man himself. Ukai flew from town to town, not caring if he was in Kara or human territory, and looked. He looked and looked for any trace of Sensei at all. Sometimes he’d swear he saw a fleeting shadow or a book that looked just like one of his. Other times he thought he heard his voice in the back of his head, or felt his haunting presence disturb his dreams.

But when the destined year had passed and Ukai found himself as lost as he was when he started, he sat down and held his head.

Where did it all go wrong?

He was in a foreign land where he had neither kin nor kith - he had pushed them all out of his life - and he had nothing left to his name but Takeda’s belongings and the clothes on his back.  

Takeda’s belongings.

He then remembered Sensei’s words.

Slowly, he unravelled the bag with his calloused hands, the knot untouched since the day he left; one could almost see the smudged fingerprints left behind by their true master. As he untied the fraying string that bound the stacks of tomes together, he felt a tide of raw nostalgia wash gently over him. It was unpleasant. He wanted to leaf through them again and relive the memories of looking over Takeda’s shoulder, yet he didn’t want to experience the pang of loss  at the same time.

But Sensei had never said anything without meaning.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the first book titled ‘Kara Biology and Epidemiology’.

It was filed with scientific rubbish. What a surprise.

Flipping carefully through the fragile pages, he trailed his eyes over the scrawls and strokes, and remembered the way Sensei looked when he was absurdly engrossed in his writing. Those furrowed brows and black-rimmed spectacles resting on the edge of his nose.

Ukai took the next book titled ‘Kara Culture, Food, and Habitats’ and flipped through that, too. More nonsense he could understand a little better.

And so was the next book, and the next, and the next– until he came upon four books that had no labels and were tied up tightly with strings of their own. He pondered their meaning as he cut them loose with the scissors, but the moment he saw their contents, he knew exactly why.

These were meant only for his eyes.

Countless drawings of Ukai Keishin, the Kara, etched themselves into the pages, some of graphite and some of ink.

Eyes, faces, hands, wings, bodies, smiles, frowns, and laughter– they had them all. Each sketch had been drawn so carefully that one could almost see the time trapped within them. As the drawings progressed they grew more elaborate and true-to-life, but none of them were really finished. Ukai kept flipping through each book, and he saw more and more of himself till he felt like putting everything away again.

But he persevered to the final book, and on the very last filled page was the only drawing that could be considered complete. It was a portrait of himself gazing faraway into the distance, with every eyelash, strand of hair, and scar painstakingly detailed.

Ukai stared at the picture for a long time.

When he came to his senses, the first thought he had was, ‘I’m not that pretty’. He had seen himself in the mirror lately, and it was a haggard mess. The next was that he realized how much Takeda had thought about him, even when they had been apart.

And then, he flipped to the next page and saw a few lines of text.

As he read them in Sensei’s gentle voice, the tears fell.

—–

To my dear Ukai,

I’m sorry that things had to end this way. I wanted to leave quietly without ever hurting you, but fate had other plans for me. I was blessed to have met you, and you’ve made all my dreams come true.

Now that I know how much it hurts to say goodbye, please forget me.

I love you.

—–

Ukai wept and clutched the book dearly to his chest.

“… Sensei, you idiot…”

For how could he forget the only person he had ever truly cherished?

Thus ended the tale of the Kara who loved a human, and the human who loved a Kara.

[fluffywithwings]

It was a year ago this Sunday that I made the decision to put Devlyn down. I still think about it but I’m sure it was the best choice at the time. Right afterward, despite the shock and finality, I had a deeper sense of relief.

Age isn’t kind to rats, and Devlyn had deteriorated in his hind legs especially. He had a lot of hair loss, small cuts that healed very slowly, the usual. And the night before I knew he was ready to leave. His wheezing and lung damage must have hit a tipping point. He started struggling for breath and would go through periods of being limp, non responsive, and not recognizing me. Just pained or discomforted movement. Or maybe that was the next morning? I forget.

He was struggling that night so I held onto his and petted him and made sure his nest had extra warm padding. He got ham fat and grapes and all kinds of special food. I called the young man and cried a little but I needed someone to talk to, to confirm that this was really the end for Dev by explaining it to someone else. I went to bed with his cage right by the bed, so he could hear/smell me and not feel alone.

The next morning he was struggling for breath, the slow drowning of damaged lungs after 5 rounds of Myco taking its effect. I let family hold him and say goodbye. He’d recognize us and crawl up to the edge of his towel on my dad’s lap, and we’d all pet him and make a fuss. I saw again that he was slipping towards more bad than good times, only now it was on an hourly or minute basis instead of having a slow day. His body was shutting down, and to me he didn’t deserve the slow painful twitching death of being trapped in a body that couldn’t exchange oxygen.

We didn’t have a vet. I know that’s considered poor practice by some but no one in our area would treat my sister’s rabbit so what chance did a rat have? I’m fairly comfortable with my limited repertoire of first aid and medical knowledge. I dosed his tetracycline for myco flare ups, oil baths for mites, cleaned up cuts and scrapes, checked his pulse, researched symptoms, the same type of home care I do for all the animals. Most of our rabbits slipped away overnight, our chickens died spectacular deaths by predator or heart attack. For Devlyn I asked my father if he still kept his squirrel gun. I held Devlyn all the way to the garage, in my rat sweater that had never been washed, and we set his cage down. I knelt and settled him in, he was beyond caring or knowing where he was. I heard Dad pumping the gun, and I panicked a little at the finality but stepped back. I wanted briefly to rush forward and grab him, just the irrational thought, but I couldn’t help him anymore.

Dad must have pumped the gun about 10 times, which is a lot. He swung the door closed, just in case. He said “I usually do two shots, just to be sure”. He said, softly, “I’m sorry, Devlyn, buddy”. There was a brief pause as Devlyn reflexively lifted in pain. I don’t know if he’d “come back” and was looking for me or just moving in pain and trying to breathe. Dad readjusted the gun where in rested a few inches from Devlyn, right against the bars, and when Devlyn settled down he took the clear shot.

I didn’t actually hear the BB but instantly I knew it was over. Devlyn’s body was settled, the muscles relaxing. There was no movement. I felt a sense of relief as I heard dad frantically pumping the gun five or six times, re aiming, and sending the second BB. It was a formality, an act of respect, an assurance that the pain was over in every way. My sister who’d been in the kitchen came out and looked around. She was sad and shocked that he was gone but hadn’t actually seen the death. I think that was better; she’s not as comfortable with it, and wouldn’t understand some of the physical things like movement after death. I walked in to the kitchen for a box and gave her a hug.

Devlyn got tucked into a box for ziplock bags. He barely fit; his tail had to curl around. I saw how much he’d gone bald, how pale his feet were from poor circulation. One large hole in front of and under his ear was slowly oozing bright blood. There was no sign of life left. I knew I was just holding a body, the leftover shell. I wanted to bury him, but it being January in Wisconsin, he’d get the time honored freezer method until spring. Into the box he went, and I set the box down while I moved the cage. The plastic tray bottom had shattered with the force of the shots and there was some blood on my rat sweater. I bagged up his bedding, my sweater, old food, and threw it away. I wasn’t ready to get rid of the cage yet so I set it in the basement. I think this helped a lot; seeing it empty and smaller all of a sudden was a reminder. When I returned a small bloodstain was on the cardboard, but otherwise the box was still closed. I peeked in, but Devlyn showed no signs of having moved or struggled. I sealed the box in a bag and it went into the downstairs freezer.

That summer, with the young man next to me, I replaced the log marker in the area where I bury pets with a rock. I spray painted a blue circle on it to let Dad know where it was. I trimmed the small yew bush that’s growing there, frost stunted and lumpy. I guessed as best I could where other things had been buried, and dug a hole about 2 feet down. I cradled the strangely heavy box, carefully, but I didn’t feel a sense of connection to it. I pulled the bag off, and opened the box. There lay Devlyn, definitely dead, looking larger than I remembered. I pulled the box off around him, and said “freezer rat” to the young man. He wanted to help but wasn’t quite sure if I was going to cry or what his role was. He kept asking if I was okay, and I was comfortable enough to say yes and smile at him. Devlyn went in; I stayed kneeling for a little bit just looking at him and then the business of refilling began. We worked a little in the garden, raking leaves and I pointed out the things that were about to bloom.

I missed him, rethought over the moment of death, how my dad said the next day that he was glad I’d asked for the “putting down” of Devlyn. I explained his condition to both Dad and my sister, the lingering pain of his death and the fear he’d feel. Dad said it was better that way and talked of dogs he’d had as a kid on the farm, of years of stories and then a walk to the woods and a quiet end for a dog which could barely move without crying in pain. That’s how they did things then.

For me, having the option of euthanasia for Devlyn was a blessing. And I’d argue that there was nothing kinder in this situation, even though guns are associated with violence. It was done with respect and brought a quick end with an instant cessation of brain activity, instead of a lingering, panicked, pain wracked death as Devlyn would have been trapped in a body that was slowly drowning, unable to breathe and then gasping for air, with organs shutting down. It could have taken days.

It was ultimately a relieving choice to make, that there was no more unknown about how long he’d endure a lowered quality of life, or guessing at partial recovery or worrying about finding some cure that would let him linger for a few more hours. He deserved better than that, for his playful spirit and the nearly 3 years of companionship, mischief, and joy he’d given me.

I knew his lungs were badly scarred, knew it when I purchased him as an adult with an advanced respiratory infection and mites, submissive and fearful. His two week recovery and complete behavioral change was only the first of many surprises Devlyn gave me. I treasure the time we had together, I missed him acutely for weeks, and now I can remember him with fondness and a sense of closure and relief. And I’m already dreaming of a trio of young male rats; were my housing situation different, I’d probably be building a cage right now.

[studio-elan]

Haunting vs Ghosting: Why Haunting is So Much Worse in Every Way

We have all heard of ghosting. But have you heard of haunting? Is it worse? Here is all you need to know about haunting vs ghosting. I am sure by now, in this day and age of technology, instant romance, and even more instant breakups, you know what ghosting is. But haunting is a new fad that seems to be creeping up in the dating scene, and yes, somehow it is worse. So, here is the haunting vs ghosting lowdown. Being ghosted When you are ghosted, you are left feeling confused and empty, depending on how intense your connection was, it can feel like a slap in the face. Only the pain doesn’t stop. It just carries on and on. [Read: What is Ghosting? All the ways it can affect someone] Someone ended things with you but you have no clue why. A part of you holds out hope because maybe they lost their phone or lost your number. But in reality, you know that is not true. Getting closure is nonexistent in the world of ghosting. You get all the feelings that go with a breakup only none of the reasons, none of the fights, and none of the actual ending. Just POOF! Radio silence. Sounds awful, right? Well, just wait until you find out how haunting works. [Read: The psychology of ignoring someone: Why we do it] What is haunting? In the literal version of the word, haunting is nearly impossible to ignore. Let’s say you have a ghost in your house. Cool. It is just chilling there not bothering anyone, and it is continuing its silence so you can eventually move on. But if your house is being haunted you can’t ignore it. That haunting ghost is everywhere. It breathes cold air down your neck, it slams doors, it breaks glasses and scares your cat. See the difference? Well, in the dating world it is the same idea. If someone is ghosting you, they disappear and for the most part they stay gone. But if someone is haunting you they seep back into your life in the most subtle of ways. This means they are gone, but cannot be forgotten. [Read: How to handle the guys who ghost and come back] Haunting vs ghosting As I said haunting is ghosting, only worse. I am not making any excuses for ghosting, but at least eventually you can forget about the person that did it. With haunting they ghost you, then come back in waves. Think, you are clearing old papers and come across a photo of an ex. Someone may say you look like you’ve seen a ghost. But imagine seeing that photo of your ex that ghosted you daily. And it isn’t just an accident. They are intentionally mailing you the photo. That is what haunting would have been before technology. Now it is that but so much easier to recreate with the use of social media. This person won’t reach out but will make themselves apparent just enough that you can’t forget about them. They are haunting your social media presence. #1 They watch your Instagram or Snapchat stories.  A proper ghost would delete you off of social media or at least make sure to stop interacting with you in every way. But a haunter will continue to pop up in small ways like this. They may even respond to an Instagram poll here or there. [Read: Why do guys ghost? 15 real reasons why guys turn into cowardly pricks] #2 They like or even comment on your posts. This is another method of haunting. This person won’t reach out but will make it blatantly obvious they want to get under your skin. They are silently saying I don’t want to talk to you, but I do want to make you feel uncomfortable and annoyed that I am still looking at your posts. We all look at our ex’s online activity. But haunting is more than that. It is doing something to indirectly interact with you, by still knowing you’ll receive a notification about it. When you stalk someone’s profile, you don’t want them to know. But a haunter does. They want to spook you through a double tap. #3 Making indirect contact. If not on social media, haunting can happen in the real world too. Say a guy who works in your building ghosted you. Well, it would be easy to avoid you by taking the stairs or walking down a different hallway. But instead, he haunts you by purposely walking by your desk or ordering lunch the same place you do. And what makes it worse is that instead of saying hi and explaining himself, he just sort of hangs around you quietly. He may even make eye contact. [Read: 19 signs of emotional damage and ways to get past them] #4 They actually reach out. This is a practiced haunter. They ghosted you and may be haunting on social media, but then they actually reach out with a text. But do they explain where they’ve been or why they were silent? Of course not. Instead, they act as if nothing ever happened, because “technically” it didn’t. And this makes it awkward for you to say anything like, “Um, where have you been for a month?” They will either come up with a generic excuse, become defensive, or ignore that comment altogether. A skilled haunter is back and not in a “yay, he came back for me” sort of way, but in a, “They’re baaaaack,” sort of way. They may ask you what they did wrong, why you hate them, or hope you just overlook their ghosting past. Don’t let a haunting ghost possess you. #5 You feel them linger. You just cannot escape them. Your ghosting experience was bad enough and now that former relationship or flirtation is just lingering in this online presence. Your mind is off of them for a while then BAM, they faved your tweet. And this leaves you feeling super weird. Did they actually ghost you or are you being paranoid? Is this just social activity or paranormal activity? What are the intentions here? And if this was more than a couple of dates, haunting can feel like a punch in the gut. It knocks the wind out of you every time you see their handle fly up on your phone. If you were in a serious relationship, an ex haunting you can be a serious offense. It keeps you from properly moving on. [Read: What is benching? 17 signs you’re being strung along right now] A haunter’s intentions Is a haunter not committing to their ghosting? Are they second guessing their cruel behavior? Or are they just being clueless? There are plenty of ghosts that wanted to see if there was something better out there, failed, then came crawling back. Some actually believe they did nothing wrong. And others are plain old cruel. Haunting someone gives a power high. You know you aren’t interested in this person, but they are playing with you. They cut off communication and are now teasing you with a watch here and a like there. They want to remain on your mind so you are never truly free of their presence. [Read: How to recognize and stop selfish people from hurting you] How to stop a haunting? There is no haunting exorcism or sage cleanse when it comes to lazy daters. Instead, your best bet is to block them. It may seem harsh, but you do not want that negative energy bringing you down. This person ghosted you. That is on them. They don’t get to just haunt you. It is your life and your social media they are haunting so cut them off. They can’t haunt you if they can’t see you. What is so bad is that just like ghosting, haunting has become a trend. Ghosting was bad enough, but I would take it over haunting any day. Apparently ignoring someone 100% is too hard for these cowards. They can’t control their fingers from tapping your stories and your posts, and it is eerily spooky. Another reason dating back before technology may have been a bit easier. [Read: How to handle the zombies of dating who love haunting you] Haunting vs ghosting… The afterlives of first dates, almosts, and broken relationships. No one needs a ghost from their dating past haunting them. The post Haunting vs Ghosting: Why Haunting is So Much Worse in Every Way is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.